9 Crimes
by birdofshade
Summary: Nine one-shots about the women in 9 men's lives. Good or bad, these were the experiences they had. Hellstrom up , Omar up , Aldo up, Landa, Stiglitz up , Hicox up, Wicki up, Donny and Smithson.
1. Hellstrom's Seven Day Fool

**Hellstrom's Seven Day Fool**

**1939**

It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do, but he dipped his head in agreement none the less. "Very well," he said, eying the younger man, with the passive face, "I have your word she will be safe?"

"Of course, Herr Geller." Deiter kept his voice calm and collected as he struggled to keep the smirk from his lips as he thought of the girl upstairs.

Sighing, the man across from him shared a look with his wife. "Go get Rachel."

"Sam-"

"Go!" he snapped, and the woman quickly darted up the stairs. Samuel looked at the officer as he shook his head.

"Is something troubling you, Herr Geller?"

"What do you want with her?" The father's tone was cold as the Major shrugged.

Again a smirked threatened to betray him, but he kept his cool as he spoke off handedly. "I find myself in need of a maid. I'm afraid mine has grown rather old, and is unable to complete certain tasks. I believe your daughter, Rachel was it?"

Samuel nodded, and Deiter went on, "will make a fine apprentice."

The girl in question came down the stairs, clutching a suit case and her mother's arm, as the men turned to her. A hiccup escaped her throat as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks.

She couldn't have been older then fourteen, Hellstrom mused, but kept silent as the family exchanged their goodbyes. Samuel put his hands on Rachel's slight shoulders. "be safe, and do as the Major tells you," His voice broke faintly and the girl choked back a sob as they embraced, her father muttering reassuring words to her in Yiddish. Nodding, Rachel pulled away from her parents grasp, wiping her flushed cheeks.

"Fraulein Geller." Deiter smiled thinly at her as she curtsied politely. "Major Hellstrom of the SS."

"Rachel." She supplied quietly, not keeping his gaze as she held her humble suitcase close to her chest.

"Well, I suppose we should be off then, Fraulein." Her bottom lip quivered as the man escorted her from her home. Casting one last forlorn look at her parents, waving in the door way, she took her lip between her teeth and got in the car.

"Do not worry, schatzi," He patted her small hand, "all will be well."

"What-what will happen to them?"

Deiter's cool gaze met her anxious one, "only time will tell."

His hand slipped from hers as she sighed. That would be the last time Rachel saw her parents.

The drive was a long one, filled with tension and awkward silence, regardless of how often Hellstrom tried to break it. When that dwindled into failure, he contented himself by taking in her appearance. Rachel was younger than he expected, considerably younger. He had been led to believe that she was in her late teens by his assistant, who had supposedly known the family for quite sometime. Her clothing was also a problem, or at least would grow to be one in time. Dark colours covered almost every inch of tanned, light brown skin. But the clothes he had for her could fix that-_would_ fix that, rather. And, Deiter supposed the age wasn't such a problem. This gave him time. He wasn't about to take advantage of a child, he had _some_ class. Time gave him the upper hand in this arrangement. Gave him time to mold her into what he wanted, what he needed in a woman. He smiled tightly at her as Rachel looked at him with those wide, innocent brown eyes.

"Major?"

"Yes, Fraulein?"

"What-" Her white teeth latched onto her bottom lip again as she turned from his apathetic stare. "Never mind."

"No, ask."

The car halted smoothly as Deiter watched her, mild interest playing on his otherwise stoic features as he took hold of her suitcase. It was incredibly light. Rachel remained silent as he ushered her into his home. The Hellstrom's house wasn't exceptionally large, but still quite bigger than she was used to. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he led her up the stairs to the room she would be staying in. It was tiny, but the picture window gave the impression that it wasn't.

"Well?"

Rachel felt a twinge of annoyance as he set her suitcase on the bed, opening it with little discretion for personal property. "What am I doing here, sir?"

He plucked a battered poetry book from her pack, eying it a moment before setting it on the single bed. "You read often, Fraulein Geller?"

"Yes, sir." Slightly thrown off by the change in subject matter, her brows knitted together. They furrowed further when she noted he was taking out her clothes next. "Sir?"

"These are rather tattered, schatzi." The Major pulled every dark article of clothing from the case, leaving only a night shirt and a few undergarments. "I've taken the liberty of filling your closet, Fraulein." He smiled stiffly at her nervous features.

"That's not-" The girl flushed as he tutted her quiet.

"I like to make sure my staff is well taken care of." He took the bundle of clothing in his arms as he moved from the bed. Glancing down at her trusting eyes, he smirked as she thanked him, a hint of reservation in her voice. "You're welcome, schatzi. Make yourself at home."

"Sir? Why-"

"Only time will tell, Fraulein." Offering her a cryptic smile, Deiter left the room, leaving the girl completely alone, confused by her own thoughts. Rachel watched the door close, blinking in surprise. Still unaccustomed to the man's comings and goings, she supposed it simply wasn't in his nature; goodbyes, that is.

Casting a wary glance to the closet, she made her way over to it with a slight hesitance. The door opened easily, and the quickly pulled the string that hung above her, aptly lighting the small space.

"Hm." A surprised murmur fell from her lips as she trailed her fingers along the soft material of the garments. The clothes were of high quality, and every article was pure white.

**1944**

Years past, and Rachel had adjusted to the change in not only location, but clothing. The colour had been the most obvious change, and over the years she had become almost unaware of the change in length.

Deviously, Major Hellstrom had taken to having every skirt of her hemmed, half an inch, every two months. White cotton that used to go past her shins now grazed her knees as sleeves disappeared almost altogether. The shift was really only noticed in the first two months, in which he had told her she was simply becoming an adult, attributing it to a growth spurt when asked.

But the biggest change, of course, had been in Rachel herself. At the tender age of seventeen her childish features had grown into those of a rather charming young woman's. Curves had set in as well, rounding out her hips and filling out her breasts, although subtly. She was still quite petite, but the change had been enough to worry her. When she asked the Major about the changes, he dismissed her fears (she had assumed she had gained weight, though Deiter told her that would probably be a blessing on her tiny frame), telling her puberty had set in, and it was nothing to concern herself with.

"_You'll be a woman soon enough." He said, shaking the wrinkles from his newspaper, smirking behind the pages. _

Her mother had said something along those lines when she had experienced her first period, and Rachel quietly cursed their ambiguity. Home was a fond memory now, and the girl had taken to busying herself by cleaning the Hellstrom house to keep from thinking of it.

Dieter had taken precautions as well. To make sure she was sheltered from anything to do with the war, he rarely had company over, and when he did it was only for a meal in which she did not attend. Every morning paper was burned after being read, and Rachel had no contact with anything or one outside his home.

He entered her room without knocking, moving to stand behind her as she sat at her vanity. The man was paid little mind, a brief moment of eye contact before she went back to running the brush through her dark hair. He did this on occasion, with these occasions becoming more and more frequent. Almost nightly. Pulling his fingers through her soft hair, down to the strap of her silk white slip. Her eyes shot back up to his as he pushed it off her shoulder, a shudder creeping up her spine as he smirked at her.

"Major?" Rachel's voice was slightly flustered as she bit her lip.

His hand moved to her other shoulder, resting on it as Deiter's fingers leisurely caressed her collar bone, electing a soundless gasp from her. "Yes, schatzi?"

"What are you doing, sir?" Almost breathless, she swallowed as he brushed his finger over the still standing strap.

Deiter's smirk widened, he said, "just admiring a beautiful girl, Fraulein."

Trailing the digit up her long neck, he pulled away from her. Seeing her drowsy eyes, and the lip firmly being bitten, he shook his head.

"Goodnight, schatzi."

Rachel tried to stifle the sudden warmth between her legs as she squirmed in her seat, "Goodnight, Major."

He was gone without another word, and the young woman let out a pant before going back to brushing her hair. These feelings were no longer foreign to her, as he tended to stir them up often. She had assumed them to be lust, though she wasn't entirely certain what that implied. Her cousin had told her that a neighbor had gotten pregnant from giving into it though, and that thought alone scared the naive girl more then she'd like to admit. Making a note to ask the Major what exactly that would entail, she climbed into bed.

Rachel stared at the ceiling, suddenly wide awake. The Major. Major Hellstrom. It struck her as odd, having lived with the man over four years, yet-she could not recall his first name. She simply did not know it, having never asked, supposing that would cross some sort of unspoken line. Even his collegues didn't refer to him as it, even in jest. She could admit she felt rather foolish; lusting after a man of his stature, of his _age_, without ever having heard his first name.

Smiling to herself, she moved a curl from her face; he'd called her beautiful.

Deiter on the other hand, was well aware of her affections towards him. It would be only a matter of time before she came to him. Miss Geller had grown into a rather submissive woman, sweet and quiet…but most importantly, completely unaware of his livelihood. Just what he wanted. Smirking to himself, he was sure. Yes, Rachel would come to him, he just had to put the last step into motion.

Which is exactly what he did the next morning. Although withholding his endearments was more difficult than expected as she dusted his book case. Standing on her tip toes, she seemed utterly oblivious to how high her slip had ridden on her thighs. But Hellstrom did, taking in every bit of exposed skin as he could while he feigned paperwork. The day went slowly, as did the next, and then the next.

Finally a week past, and Deiter was quite aware of her. Of her hesitations, of her concerns. He hadn't spoken so much as a word to her in the seven days, and the nightly visits had ceased completely.

Lighting a cigarette, he shuffled back against the wall, completely at ease as a knock came on the door, and a smirk came on his face.

"Enter."

Doing as she was told, Rachel did, staying in the door way as she eyed him on the bed. Casting a uncertain glance behind her, she gave him her attention as he spoke.

"Is there something you wanted, Fraulein Geller?"

"I-I-um," She stuttered as a puff of smoke drifted from his lips, and she moved her brown eyes back to his as they glittered suggestively at her. "Did I do something to offend you, sir?"

"Now why would you say something like that, schatzi?"

The teenager grinned at the pet name, as moved towards him as he motioned for her with his hand, moving to the edge of the bed. "Come here, Rachel." Snuffing out his cigarette, he chuckled at her wide eyed expression. "Is something wrong?"

"You-" She bit her lip as he smoothed a wrinkle on the skirt of her slip. "you've never called me that before."

He smirked up at her. "Have I crossed a line, Fraulein?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head eagerly. "No, sir."

"No?"

"No."

Deiter's dark eyes narrowed as his lips parted, eying her own with interest. "How old are you now, schatzi?"

"Almost eighteen sir."

"So," a pink tongue darted out to wet his lips as he slipped a hand between her knees. "I suppose that makes you a woman now, Fraulein." A familiar fire caught in her stomach as she cleared her throat. "Don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir." Rachel kept her gaze on his as he leered suggestively at her, and she tried to fight the panic that constricted her chest. "Please-" Her legs ached to move, but weren't following through as she blurted out, "I don't want to get pregnant!"

Hellstrom's brows rose as he scoffed. "Pregnant?"

"My cousin said you can get pregnant from-"Her confession was silenced as she saw his smile, and felt his hand creep up her inner thighs.

"From what, Fraulein?" His tone was slightly mocking, but he became rather serious as her answer slipped from her lips.

"Lust."

"Oh, _Liebchen,_" Deiter grinned, laughing slightly, "tell me, what do you know of sex?"

Tilting her head, Rachel blinked at him, "sex?"

"Yes, sex."

"My mother said a proper girl never spoke of it."

"But Rachel," The man smirked at her flush, "we've been over this." His eyes sparkled as she shuddered from his fingers as they gently grazed her white panties. "You're a woman now. So? Tell me."

"She'd tell me what I needed to know the night before my wedding." Her brown eyes fluttered closed as his hand applied a bit more pressure.

"Really?" She nodded wordless, and he went on. "Is that so? Nothing else?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like me to teach you more, Rachel?"

Opening her eyes to meet his, she nodded as ran his finger over the hem of her underwear. "Yes, sir."

Running his hands back down to her knees, he pulled her closer, so she was standing between his legs. "Is that really all you know?"

"Well-my cousin said _it_…" Rachel cleared her throat as he continued to look up at her, sliding his hands back up the back of her thighs, "hurts."

"It hurts?" his brow quirked as she began to move uncomfortably between his knees, "Only the first time." Deiter promised, "and only if you rush it."

"Rush it?" Her brows furrowed, she was under the impression it was something to be rushed. To get rid of the unsettling knot in her stomach so she could move on with her life. She wrung her hands together. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea… "Sir?"

"Mhm?" Wrapping his fingers around the thin material, he slid it down her knees. "Is there a problem?"

"M-maybe we-"

Sensing her uncertainty, Hellstrom brushed his finger tip against her clit. A surprise gasp slipped from her lips as her hips jerked towards him. "Maybe what, schatzi?"

"What did-" Rachel bit her lip as he repeated the motion, drawing it out a little longer than last time. "What-"

"There are some things all women have in common." He smirked switching to use him thumb as she closed her eyes. Her hands shook, as he continued to push the small nub, working it a bit rougher with every passing moment. "Are you alright, Rachel?"

The woman nodded eagerly, digging in her nails into her palms as her legs quivered.

"Pardon?" Deiter paused his movements, electing a small whimper from her. "What was that?"

"Please." She murmured, "Major, don't-" But his thumb had already gone back to stroking her, and she found herself suddenly inarticulate. Pleasant pulsations clouded her mind as she stared at him, looking up at her, as he played innocent to what he was doing. A simple smile played on his lips as he ran an attentive finger down her slit, smirking when she shuddered.

"Does this hurt?" He asked, gently probing her opening.

Rachel shook her head again, loving the friction as the Major combined the two actions. "No, sir."

She was tight, and he was having trouble restraining himself as her warmth enveloped his finger, undoing his trousers with one hand, he slid a second finger into her. Her hips bucked as a moan came from her lips, as a fleeting look of pain crossed her soft features. A moment passed before Deiter felt Rachel start to respond.

Watching her begin to pant, he smirked to himself as the girl's knees began to buckle unsteadily.

"Sir…?"

He ignored her, pumping the digits into her harder as her legs began to shake, "S-sir!"

Rachel slipped her hands over his, though the silk covered them from view. Trembling, she struggled to catch her breathe as she tried to push his hand away from her. The fire had spread to her veins, a wonderful burn that was trapped between her legs. Grasping his wrist, she moaned as he spoke.

"You can fight it all you like, Rachel, but I'm still going to make you come."

Her brown eyes peered down at him through her thick lashes as she tilted her head, still feebly trying to rid his generous hand from her.  
"Do you know what that is?" Deiter chuckled, biting back his need as she shook her head, hold still firm around his wrist as he continued to push forcefully into her tightness. She let out another weak moan, it felt- he heard her gasp, and smirked as she tightened around his fingers.

Rachel saw stars, white blinding lights that froze her as gratification buzzed through her, and she willed to remain standing.

"That's coming." He said, pulling his fingers from her, earning himself a small mew of protest. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Was that sex?" She asked, watching him lick them.

"No, schatzi, that was not."

"Sir?" Biting her lip, Rachel stared at him.

"Yes?"

She smile gently at him, and he returned the gesture. "Did-did you…"

"Come?" He shook his head, "no."

A blush came over her features, "I'm sorry! Did I do it wrong?"

Deiter patted the bed, "sit." She complied quickly, brushing some of her curly hair from her sweaty face. "Closer." Again she did as she was told, and when he repeated the request, she did as instructed until she was flush against him. He flicked the straps off her night dress to her shoulders. Rachel pulled her arms out of it, and he quickly tugged the top down to reveal her modest chest. She blushed, but didn't cover herself, instead moving a little closer to him as lust continued to course through her. Kicking the underwear out from between her knees, she looked at him expectantly as he raised a brow.

"A bit excited are we?" Hellstrom's eyes widened as she put a hand on his thigh, leaning into him.

"Please," Rachel bit her lip as she met his eyes, "I'd like to get it right."

He captured her lips with his own, shrugging out of button up as he laid her back. What she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm, pushing his shirt off his shoulders as he dropped his drawers.

There was a moment of tense stillness as he entered her, groaning at the wonderful clutch around his cock. A few light thrusts later, she had learned to mimic his movements, and quickly began to buck to meet him.

"Please-please, Major-" Moaning quietly in his ear, she was being overloaded by sensations; of his hands on her breasts, of the steady rhythm of his cock, it was maddening. "Please-do it again, please!"

Her feverish ranting seemed to have the desired affect because Deiter's hand slipped down to her clit as his thrusts became more violent.

He looked down at the girl, then smiled at her. The girl in the doorway was gone now, this sultry woman who writhed beneath him had taken her place. He dropped a kiss to her lips, deciding he liked Rachel a lot better then schatzi.

A/N: this is a series of oneshots, 9 to be exact. 9 characters, 9 OCs. Review and tell me which one you want next; Omar, Aldo, Hicox, Landa, Stigliz, Wicki (I'd recommend one of them, btw, b.c they're all halfway done), Utivich, or Donny. And of the latter two, whether you'd like me to reprise my two OCs from The Canary or Girl.


	2. Stiglitz's Justification

Hugo Stiglitz

**1929**-

"I'm not saying you're a bad salesman, Hugo," The man tilted his head, lips pursed as his father went on, "I'm just think the costumers would respond better to some one less…serious."

The solider rose a brow as the older man went around to stand behind the counter, "I'm too serious?"

"Exactly-not that there's anything wrong with that," Albert opened the cash register, "But you remember the number one rule of salesmanship?"

"Sell the product no matter what?"

"No. Be serious, but do it with _personality_."

"Are you saying I have no personality?" Hugo quipped, smirking at him as Albert shook his head.

"You scare the costumers."

"And you think a teenage girl won't?"

"She's not a teenage girl, son. Besides, if you don't like her, we can find someone else." He jerked his head to the stairs, "now go bring up the chairs from the back room, she'll be here any minute."

Doing as he was told, the young man disappeared into the basement of the shop, just as the door opened. Distantly, Hugo could hear his father cooing over what must have been the new employee. His father always had been a bit of a flirt. Sighing to himself, he lifted two of the handcrafted chairs up. He hadn't expected to ever be working in the shop again, but work was scarce, and his army application hadn't gotten back to him yet.

Meanwhile his father was welcoming the young woman to the shop.

"Ah, Fraulein Levitt," Albert took hold of her hands as he ushered her into the shop, "come in, come in, the family is well?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled at his enthusiasm as he grinned at her.

"Good to hear! Your father is feeling better I take it?"

Again, the petite brunette nodded, "considerably, Herr Stiglitz. Mama thinks it was just a touch of the flu. He should be back to work by week's end."

"I must say, I was rather surprised when you agreed to this little endeavor of ours, Fraulein." Albert took her jacket, helping her shrug out of it as she looked up at him.

"Well, to be honest I was sort of surprised the offer was made, I assumed your son would be taking over."

"Hugo can be rather…intimidating when it comes to the public."

A fine brow was lifted at his statement as she let out a quiet, "oh?"

"In fact, there he is now; Hugo!"

Startled, the young man stumbled a bit, snapping his head to glare at his father as he struggled with one of the chairs. "You beckoned?" his sarcastic tone went ignored as his father motioned for him again. Complying, he set the furniture down before approaching them.

"Hugo, this is Hanna Levitt, I'm sure you've met."

They hadn't, but he was acquainted with her father. Hugo shook the hand that was offered to him gently. She was considerably smaller than him, barely reaching five foot, if he had to guess. He nodded, "Fraulein Levitt."

Her big brown eyes sparkled up at him as she spoke, "Herr Stiglitz."

Giving her a tight smile, it became genuine when she returned it with ease. His father took note of this, but said nothing as the pair's hands dropped.

"Well," Albert's lips lifted subtly as the two continued to stare at each other. "Why don't I show you how to run the register?"

Hanna nodded, clearing her throat as she looked at the ground, "Okay."

**1932**

He looked rather dashing in that uniform, she mused, smiling slightly at him as he entered the shop. "Herr Stiglitz."

"Fraulein." The smile came easily to his lips as he greeted her, "How's business?"

A sigh slipped from her throat as she leaned her elbows on the counter. Resting her chin on her hand, she shrugged indifferently. "Not well, Liebling."

Hugo patted her shoulder, letting it slip down the length of her arm as she arched a brow at him. "Well, I suppose it's not so bad," she murmured, continuing to look up at him with the dreamy brown eyes he'd come to…be fond of.

Yes, that was it. Fondness. He was fond of her, and well aware of her fondness for him. Nicely distanced fondness.

"Training going well, I take it?" Hanna watched as he intertwined their fingers, only a moment, before covering her small hand with his large one.

"The Sergeant's an asshole." He said gruffly as she giggled at him.

"Maybe you're just not that good at taking orders."

Rolling his bluish eyes, he released her hand, "Maybe." Stiglitz didn't remove himself from the young woman's personal space, invading it further as he loomed over her.

Hanna just barely passed his shoulder, but didn't seem the least bit alarmed. He detected just a hint of a smirk, in fact. A bell ringed behind them signaling the arrival of a costumer, and she nodded toward the stairway that led to the basement. "You're father's in the basement."

"Danke, Fraulein Levitt."

"Hanna." She corrected, her smirk widening as he let a small smile slip onto his passive features. It stayed on her lips as he drifted past her.

-

Hours past.

Albert had gone home almost as soon as Hugo had arrived, claiming stomach distress, leaving him to finish off a set of dining chairs.

Hanna on the other hand, was still working the front desk when he emerged.

She was not alone. Standing high on a step ladder, she was leaning over, much to the approval of the boy looking up her skirt.

"These ones?" The woman asked, pointing to a box of nails directly in front of her.

"No," the teenager smirked, "the ones a little to the left."

Hugo's hand clamped down on the boy's shoulder, electing a yelp from him. Quirking a brow, he looked down at his panic stricken features as Hanna turned, completely oblivious on the step above.

"What-" Her brown eyes narrowed as she realized the rather…scandalous going ons. "I think you should go."

"I agree." Stiglitz gave him a firm tug, sending his lanky body toward the door as the woman stepped down. She didn't seem the least bit embarrassed, a tad annoyed perhaps, but she still met his eyes as he teased her. "Must admit, it was a rather clever idea."

"Oh, Hugo," Her voice had a rather breezy air to it, as she looked up at him. "You don't need to trick me for me to flash some leg, Liebling."

Tanned fingers brushed the material of his jacket. He met her gaze, putting a steady hand on hers as it drifted up to one to touch the metals gracing it. Their fingers intertwined a moment, and his head dipped to hers, hovering over her lips. "Is that so?"

Her eyes locked on his teal ones, he suddenly found himself being overwhelmed. By her brass exposition, her scent, those terribly dreamy eyes that always looked up at him. Usually deviously. "Mhm."

He pulled away slowly, clearing his throat as she flushed. "I should be getting back to work…"

"Oh, yes, of course." Hanna pulled her hand from his chest, backing away further so he could pass. Waiting until he was safe in the basement, she turned, lightly banging her head on the shelf. "Dummes Huhn," She murmured, "dummes huhn."

Hugo wasn't fairing any better in the cellar, swearing rather loudly as he hammered away. The chair was being mangled, but at least he was getting his sexual frustration out. This went on for about six minutes before he tossed the hammer across the room and stormed back up the stairs.

Her back was facing him, and she was still quietly cursing her stupidity when hands came down on her shoulders. Spinning her easily, Stiglitz lifted her legs around his waist.

"Wha-" Hanna's breath caught in her throat as he cupped her face, pushing her against the shelf to support their weight. His eyes flickered up to her forehead, lingering on the red mark, but not questioning it.

"You mean what you said?" Stiglitz voice was gruff and warm in her ear as he slid his hand up her thigh, "about you showing me some leg?"

A dry chuckle came from her. "I'll show more than just a hint of leg if you keep that up, Hugo."

A rare grin came across his face, and an even rarer blush came over hers.

"What?"

"Nothing." She murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his. He shifted his weight from her hips to his own.

"You sure about that, ?" He asked, gently grazing her smooth skin with his nails, electing a subtle shudder from the young woman.

"Very," Hanna cupped his face, moving a little closer to him. There was a rough hint of stubble that ran along his jaw, but she paid it no mind as she dropped a kiss to his lips.

This would be the first of many.

**1936**

Their marriage had taken place in late June of 1933. And since then, things had not been easy for Hanna and Hugo. The German people, not all of course, but certainly some, were growing rather hostile towards the Jewish community. Such matters had never been of any particular importance to him, but Stiglitz now found himself in the middle of what seemed like a civil war.

Not that he minded of course. His teal eyes slipped to the nude body of his wife, dozing peacefully on her side next to him. He slipped an arm around her waist, electing a small murmur from her as she turned toward him.

Brown eyes peeked opened, and Hanna gave him a soft smile. "Everything alright, Hugo?"

A small hand rested on his firm chest, tracing little circles on it while he spoke. "Fine."

-

It was…fine…everything was perfectly alright…for about a week.

Nothing seemed out of place when Stiglitz arrived home from the training base, expect perhaps for the notice nailed to his front door. Yanking the thin paper from its place, he opened the door. The kitchen wasn't exactly spacious but as Hanna said, it got the job done. He leaned back against the table as he skimmed over it.

_To whom it may concern;_

_It has been brought to the attention of the German government that a German citizen by the name of Hugo Stiglitz has yet to annul his marriage to the Jew by the name of Hanna Levitt. He is to legally end his marriage and be moved out of this vicinity by the end of the week or suffer the punishment as seen fit his commanding officer, one Dieter Hellstrom. Failure to submit is a crime by which those found guilty could face a dishonorable discharge, or corporal punishment._

_ Hiel Mien Furor_

A name was jotted down in the corner but his hands were shaken too badly to read it. The audacity of them. They really thought he would divorce his wife because of some petty law that was put in place?!

"What's that?"

Hugo jumped at the sound of her voice, and promptly ripped the paper up. "Nothing."

"If its nothing, why'd you rip it up?" Hanna asked, smirking as he jumped off the table. He eyed her a moment before pulling her slight form to his chest. Holding her tightly, Hugo sighed as he dropped a kiss to her head. She seemed so fragile, just barely coming up to his chin as her arms gripped his back. A moment past, and her eyes squeezed shut. Something was wrong.

It got worse as the days past. He became frustrated, snapping at her and anyone else who questioned his motives. He wouldn't let her leave the house; he tried to convince her to quit her job. All of which was odd, especially since he was always rather passive about such things. In fact he'd even told her on occasion that he appreciated her independence.

It scared her, but it was nothing compared to how she felt when he was dragged to their doorstep. Bloody and bruised. The guards looked down at her.

"Maybe he'll take this warning more seriously."

-

"Hugo Stiglitz?"

The solider straightened up as his commanding officer approached him, two guards at the ready. "Yes, sir?"

"Is it true you have yet to annul your marriage?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because I love her." His words were simple and direct, but they seemed to have a bitter effect to the ears that were listening.

Hellstrom's eyes narrowed subtly, "foolish. If you loved her so you wouldn't put her in jeopardy."

"I like to keep my eye on her." Hugo bit his tongue to keep from swearing at him, "Can I ask what business that is of yours, sir?"

"You're declaring war on the German government, bringing down morale." A sadistically gleeful look past over his face, "You're a threat to the public and must be made an example of." Hellstrom glanced at the guards, "arrest him."

He didn't resist. Didn't fight or scream or make a scene.

And he kept his quiet rage up while they whipped him.

-

Cool hands gently touching his burning skin woke him. Groaning he opened his eyes to find himself back home in his room, his wife bandaging his back with caution.

"Hugo?"

"Mm?"

Hanna licked her lips as she brushed some of her tears back. "They-they said you'd been warned, before. What was the first one?"

"A decree." He murmured, his husky voice weak.

"They want us to get divorced?"

"Yes."

A finger caressed his shoulders, just outside the line of a welt. "Maybe-"

"No."

"But-"

"I said no, Hanna." His words were final, and he slipped a hand over his knee. "It's not your fault."

"I know, I'm not a child." Her tone was harsh, but not angry. "But this could've been prevented. It would've been a simple signing of paper, just for show."

"No. the only way this marriage is ending is if they hang me for treason." He smiled as her hand floated over his, gently stroking the palm of it.

The woman dropped a kiss to his cheek, "don't say that."

"Don't worry, darling, they don't have the balls."

-

**Three days later**

It was night when they came. With their black trench coats and knowing smirks.

Stiglitz locked eyes with Hellstrom.

"Move aside solider."

"No fucking way, _sir_." He heard a gun cock, but didn't move from his place in the door as it was raised to his head, "go ahead. Do it. You're not coming in."

"Our problem does not lie with you, Stiglitz. Move aside."

Hugo opened his mouth to refuse when a voice came from behind him. "What's going on?"

The imposing man froze, and his superior officer motioned to one of the guards. The butt of his rifle came down hard on his side, wedging deeply in the still open sores that graced his torso.

"_What the fuck are you doing_?!" The woman shrieked, pushing one of the men back as they entered her home. "_Get the fuck out of here_!"

Hugo cringed more at the panic in her voice than the pain in his side as he stood. "Get the hell off of her!"

"Private." Hellstrom's voice was precise, "don't forget you're place. Arrest the girl."

"What?!" the lovers yelled, the man taking control as two of the guards held him back. "What're the charges?!"

"She's been deemed an enemy of the state."

"If you take her you'll have to take me as well." Keeping his voice completely void of emotion was difficult as he watched his wife be forced to her knees.

"You're not a Jew." The man shrugged, smirking as he pulled a Beretta from his hip. "You're just married to one."

A few tears slipped from her brown eyes as she locked eyes with his teal ones.

"Hands behind your neck."

Doing as she was instructed, Hanna ignored her quivering lip as she smiled at her husband. A gun was cocked, and she felt the cool metal tip of it pressed against the back of her head.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Hugo bellowed, shoving his captors as they cuffed him.

"Getting rid of another Jewish whore." The gun was fired with a stifling bang and the man fell to his knees as his wife fell to the floor, eyes staring blankly at the wall.

"Hanna…"

"Still want to go where she's going, Private?" Hellstrom let out a chuckle, motioning for the men to let go of him.

Bile rose in his throat, but he was too shocked to do anything about it. A large hand brushed some of her dark hair back from her face as blood poured onto the hardwood floor.

"We'll just leave you be then." Hellstrom's tone was bordering giddy, and it made Hugo's stomach turn even further.

They were out of his house, but not out of his life. He'd kill every one of the guards with his bare hands, and even Hellstrom with the very knife Hanna had given him.

But it wasn't enough. They'd taken something much worse from him. His wife, his friend, his family. And he'd be damned if he was going to stop at just five of them.

A/N: I'm not exactly thrilled with this one, but since everyone demanded it, I thought I'd put it up. Any one who reads my Girl story will recognize Hanna. I hope it came off okay, review and message me with who you want next. It will not be Donny. He's gonna be last with a new OC and Smithson might be like second last with Anya. Ask for someone else.


	3. Omar's Cherry

Omar Ulmer

**1941**

Paris. The city of love. The city of lights and romance and Omar couldn't of hated it more.

Perhaps not the city itself, or even the people in it. Well, maybe a couple of the people in it…namely one Donny goddamn Donowitz who had made it his mission to rip on the young man for being a virgin at every chance he got.

Honestly, he didn't see what the big deal was. It's not like he wanted to be nineteen and still a…you know. To be honest, it hadn't really troubled him until Donny found out.

Omar figured it was his gentlemanly duty to treat the women he saw with respect. He'd come rather close to the real thing, but when girls told him to stop-he did. And they told him to stop _a lot_.

A sigh escaped his throat as he picked at the fire with a stick.

"Somethin' botherin' ya, boy?" Aldo pulled the box of snuff from his jacket.

"No."

"Ulmer…"

There was a moment of silent pause before the private spoke. "It's my twentieth birthday tomorrow and I'm still a virgin."

"Alright, well, we can fix that."

Brown eyes widened as Omar shot him a horrified look, "I'd like to lose it to a girl, sir!"

"No, you idjit, we can get ya one'a those." The lieutenant shook his head as his solider calmed slightly, a flush on his face.

"Oh," An embarrassed laugh came from him as he nodded, "right."

"Tom'ara then."

-

"Aldo Raine."

A busty woman in a silk red teddy embraced the Apache, quickly ushering him, and his men, into the brothel with enthusiasm. A few of the men, particularly Omar and Utivich, stood wearily at the back of the group as Aldo took the woman aside.

"Now, Jocelyn, we got kinda a special situation here."

"What? One of your men are…'ow do you Americans zey it…" She tapped her lip with her pointer finger, "zee 'omosex-shal?"

"What? No, no, nothin' like that." He pulled her a little closer, ignoring the curious looks the men were casting him. "We're gonna need a girl with a little less…experience than most."

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, and she spoke with a firm tone. "We don't supply children-"

"No, god, no. Nothin' like that." Aldo repeated, "one'a my men is…well, he's a virgin."

Jocelyn didn't so much as snicker, instead offered him an understanding nod. "I see. I know jus' zee girl." Turning on her heel, she took a key off a corkboard behind her. "Zis is 'er." A smirk came over her dark red painted lips, "Cerise."

"Cerise?" He took the key, eying it as he said, "she a nice girl?"

"Zee nicest. Only nice men for Cerise."

"Why?" Aldo spun the key ring on her finger as she explained.

"She is young, sweet woman."

The key stopped mid-motion as a few of the men began to shuffle awkwardly.

Omar and Smithson. Of course.

Groaning inwardly, the older man turned to them. "Will you two knock that off?!"

"Sorry." The said in union. Jocelyn caught the hesitance of the two, and took another key from the rake.

"Gigi, also very polite."

"Thanks." The lieutenant tossed the keys to the men. "Upstairs than, go."

They shared a look before lagging up the stairs. A few catcalls were heard, but Omar ignored them as he glanced down at the number on his key. 8.

"What one you got?"

"Twelve." Smithson answered, thumbing the key's ridges. "Well, good luck, I guess."

"Thanks." He watched the other man disappear into one of the rooms before looking at the black number nailed to the red door. A hand was raised, and a brisk knock was heard.

Cerise grabbed the robe that hung from the back of her chair as she stood. Tightening its belt around her small waist, she opening the door. A young man stood at the door, dressed in rather odd army attire, with dark hair and a roundish face.

"Um, Bonjour?"

He blinked at her, completely out of his element as he took in her features. She was about his height and age, with light red hair and a nervous disposition.

Omar thought she was kind of beautiful.

"D-do you speak English?"

"Oui." Her head bobbed in a nod as she cross her arms protectively over her slight chest. "You must be one of Aldo's men, yes?"

"Yes, m'am."

A delicate smile rose on her thin red lips as she opened the door. "Come in zen."

His eyes were cast everywhere but hers, darting anxiously about the small room with haste. "So, what's your name?"

"Cerise."

"Cerise what?" He asked.

"Jus' Cerise. And you?"

"Omar Ulmer, m'am."

Setting her hands on his shoulders, she guided him to the bed. Too enwrapped by her scent, her eyes, he didn't notice the bed until he tumbled onto it. He blushed furiously, sitting up as quickly as he fell to save face.

"It is your first time, no?"

"What?"

Cerise offered him another quiet smile as she backed away from him to lean against her vanity. He seemed less than comfortable with the question but he nodded. "Yes, m'am."

A slender pale hand slide over to a cigarette holder. "Tell me about yourself."

"Um, like what?"

"You're American?"

"Yeah," He took the cigarette as it was offered, "I'm from Easton, Pennsylvania."

"Do you like it zere?" The woman raised the smoke to her lips, annoyed with the dark red ring her lipstick left on it.

"Yes, m'am." Cursing quietly at his inability to form words, he raked his hand through his greased back hair. Only to end up wiping it on his pants, leaving dark smudges in its wake. He took a long drag from his cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves, not noticing her eyes taking him in. The bed shifted slightly as she took a seat next to him, brushing some of his dark hair back. Omar stiffened, feeling her cool fingers slip just inside his collar.

"Eet is nice zere, yes?" Cerise's voice was low next to his ear, practically a purr. She moved closer, hooking a leg gently over his as the cigarette shook noticeably between his fingers. Sliding it from the trembling digits, the woman smiled at him again, showing a pair of soft dimples he hadn't noticed before. "Don't want you to burn yourself."

Omar's eyes were wide, and a dark hue was rising on his cheeks as she stamped the smoke out in an ashtray, leaning over him to do so. Putting hers out as well, she stayed pressed against him a moment longer than necessary. A pale hand rested on his knee, and he took a deep breathe, inhaling the scent of perfume from her skin. An odd combination of cherry and mint.

"I-" He started, but paused as her lips brushed his. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he eyed her lips a moment, the dark make up just a tad smudged. A tentative hand cupped her chin, wiping her bottom lip with his thumb. He flushed as she smirked.

"How was eet ze women resist you, mon Coeur?"

"Bad luck?" Omar offered, watching as her fingers nimbly opened the first button on his shirt.

"For zem maybe." Cerise straddled him with ease, rocking her hips a moment to steady herself. She placed a quick kiss on his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and finally his mouth. "Ready?"

A mute nod answered her, and the Basterd eyed her nude torso as the silk robe fell to pool around her waist.

The whole process didn't last very long, but left the two panting heavily as they lay still in the faint light. Her head rested on his chest as it rose and fell with steady haste.

"Was, was that okay?" Omar's voice was quiet, just barely reaching a whisper as his hand slipped through her red hair.

"Yes." Nodding, she kissed his cheek before standing. Her nakedness didn't seem to bother her as she moved about the room, his gaze ever present of her willowy form. Cerise hovered around her vanity a moment before plucking a card off the desk. She reapplied some of her red lipstick, ignoring his questioning stare that faced her in the mirror, before smacking a loud kiss on the small, thick paper. A girlish giggle came from her as he stumbled, boxers hooked around his legs. Sliding them up quickly, he wrapped his arms around her. "What'cha doin'?"

She gave the card a spritz of perfume, turning in his hold. I was handed to him with another sweet smile, and a final kiss on the cheek.

"Can-can I see you again?"

A loving finger trailed down his bare chest, "Zat is why I gave you the card, Omar."

His hands cupped her face as he spoke. "I really had a good time, Cerise."

_They always do_, she thought, offering another false smile. "Me, too."

The young man reached for his wallet, but she stopped his hand. This _Omar Ulmer_, if that was his real name, was a nice boy. Most of her clients were, but he had a…not quite innocence, but definitely a hint of the naive Easton boy still remained. She liked that.

"First time is free." This was a lie, of course, in fact she usually doubled the cost just to weed out those too cheap to come back. But, she had a good feeling about him, so she let it slide.

"Oh." A warmth stirred in his stomach as he took in her sharp features. Grey eyes glittered back at him, a suggestive hint in them as she smiled. "Thanks."

"De rien." She said, handing him his shirt as he shuffled awkwardly for his pants.

"Thanks," Omar repeated, pulling it over his shoulders. With a nod she ushered him to the door

-

Months went by.

And after the positive response Aldo had from his men, trips to Jocelyn's brothel had become a weekly event. When the OSS inquired as to what they were spending their money on, the Apache called it preventive stress relief.

Most of the men liked to change up their women, with a new girl every other week, but Omar didn't.

Over the course of time, he hadn't so much as considered going to another girl. He liked Cerise, probably more he should have. She was familiar. And her warm personality was welcoming after a day of violence.

The affection wasn't exactly one-sided, with Cerise allowing his presence to shift from source of income to companion…and eventually to lover.

The title wasn't set in stone or anything, or even acknowledged. Well, most of the time, anyway.

His fingers were slipping through her red hair, from crown to tip, in a steady, calming motion. Brown eyes gazed down at her with what she swore was love, but doubted highly, as he spoke. "Would-would you, maybe stop if I asked you to?"

There was a pause before her hand came up to cup his chin.

"Yes." It was a lie, bitter on her tongue, but it was delivered flawlessly with a smile. Even though she was sure the sadness shone through.

Nothing was said as he went back to repeating the motion, and it wouldn't be until the next time he visited her.

She was with some one else.

Omar blinked at Jocelyn. "What?"

"She's with a costumer, you'll 'ave to pick another girl."

A heavy weight set in his heart, as though someone was stepping on it as he shook his head. "I'll wait."

"Why? There are plen-"

"I said I'll wait." He snapped, ignoring the sting in his eyes. He trotted up the stairs, discarding her distant calls of disapproval.

Staring at the 8, he was tempted to storm in there and beat the shit out of whomever she was with. The moment was lost when a man in his mid-forties opened the door. There was a quick glance thrown at Omar before the man smirked.

"La prostituée un bon trajet, n'est-ce pas?" With a pat on the arm the man strode past him, completely unaware of the younger man's heartbreak. He didn't need to guess what the son of a bitch had said to him, and he slammed the door open.

Cerise didn't appear too startled as she met his blood shot eyes in the mirror. Her red hair was pinned back in a loose bun, and her robe was draped, open, across her shoulders. She didn't move from her seat as he began to pace, angrily, behind her.

"You fucked him didn't you?" His tone was almost hostile, as raked his hands feverishly through his dark hair. "Well!?"

"Oui." Cerise answered quietly, feeling as though her shame was misplaced. "You know what I am, Omar. Eet is my job."

His back was to her, unable to look at her passive features, and smeared lipstick. "You're a whore."

The words echoed back at him, mocking his naïve thoughts that she could've felt the same. That she loved him back. Cerise closed the door, wincing as he moved away from her.

"Do not play innocent with me."

"Innocent?" He scoffed, "_innocent_!? _What the fuck about you is innocent?! You get paid for sex! What the fuck do you know about innocence?! Huh?_"

"Om-"

"_Don't! Don't you dare say my name_!" his brown eyes were filled with tears, but they weren't falling yet. "Not while you still have another man's taste on your lips."

"You 'ad no problem when eet was you." She said, closing her robe as he glared at her.

"That was different!"

Cerise shrieked indignantly. "_'Ow?! 'Ow is that different!? Because it was you?! You know 'ow many men say zat?!"_

"How many?" Omar's voice lowered and he stared down at her with disgust. "How many men have you fucked? How many men have you made think you love them for their money?"

Her eyes dropped to the ground, ignoring his close proximity as he leaned over her. The tears were falling down, and she couldn't bare to look at him.

"You," He sighed looking at the red carpet a moment before continuing, just as quiet as before, "you said you'd stop. Said you'd stop for me."

"I didn't zink-" The young woman shook her head, some of her hair falling from her bun, "eet is my job to tell men what zey want to 'ear, Omar. You know zat."

"all I know is," He cupped her chin to glare into her grey eyes, "you're nothing but another worthless whore." His hand tightened, and she winced at his words, "you think they care about you? That they love you like I do?"  
She remained silent, but didn't drop his stare as he jerked away from her, like she was a hot stove. "You're just another slut." He said, shaking his head as he inhaled deeply. The whole room smelled of her scent. That frustratingly sweet smell. "How many?"

"Lots." She shrugged, hoping that her nonchalance might cause him a little less pain. To dismiss them as what they were, causal fucks. Not friends like he was, they were nothing to her.

"Did you care about any of them?"

"No," Cerise said, deep and sincere like a promise that stung his chest. Tightening and constricting it at the thought.

It should have made him feel better. That she hadn't cared about them, that they didn't mean anything to her. But it didn't. It made it all the more worse. Knowing she was with anyone. Anyone who paid her. Anyone off the streets.

Omar shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the images that played over in his mind. "You're-"

"You can keep saying I am pathetic, but you are the one who is upset," her tone was cold, jarring. Not because of the words exactly, but the harsh accuracy of them.

"Did you care about me at all? Or was I just another trick?"

"'Ow can you ask zat?" Hurt was evident in her grey eyes and he was quick to look away from them.

Omar chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, "How can I not? I'm sick of being lied to Cerise."

"Giselle."

"What?" He blinked at her, as she pushed some of her hair back.

She fiddled with a red strand before saying, "my real name is Giselle, not Cerise."

"I think Jezebel would be more fitting." Omar snapped, venom falling from his lips that made her cringe. "You said that I'm the one whose upset?"

He didn't wait for her to respond, "The only difference is you'll cry later when you're alone." Tears continued to fall from his brown eyes as they searched her stoic features, "and you will be. You're gonna get old, and die alone, because no man wants used goods."

Giselle stared up at him, but didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. That could wait. "I zink you should go."

"I think your right." Omar nodded, and moved past her, taking one last breath of her scent before leaving the room for what he thought would be the last time.

-

But the idea of dying brought him back to her. Operation Kino was going to go as planned, even if he wasn't very pleased with his sudden involvement in it.

Aldo raised a brow at the suggestion. "Why?"

"I have to see her, to apologize at least."

"Son, she's a whore, ain't like she's never heard whatever it was ya called her before." He said, his voice boarder-lining between sympathy and condescending.

"It's different, please, I'll be real quick about it."

"Fine." The older man rolled his eyes, "'sides it'll give Utivich some more practice."

The young man was less than thrilled to being drove by Smithson. Not that he had anything against him personally, he was just a very…tense driver. Probably because his experience was literally Donny teaching him how to back in and out of the drive way. Aldo sat in the front, just to say goodbye to Jocelyn.

She didn't look too pleased at the sight of Omar.

"Can I see her?"

"Who?" The woman asked, feigning annoyed innocence.

"Cerise-_Giselle_." He corrected quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat as her eyes softened.

Jocelyn knew the girl cared for this boy, heaven knows why, but she didn't know how much. A whore's name was really all they had, and if she was willing to share it with this man, well…

"She's gone."

"Gone?" His voice broke as his eyes widened. "Gone where?"

"She said something about England, and just left." She shrugged.

Omar's wide brown eyes were panicked, and his voice shaky. "But- she didn't leave a note? Or anything for me?"

The woman's brow rose slightly, and she remembered herself. "Why would she leave a note for a boy who paid 'er for a fuck?"

His shoulders slumped as Aldo patted one of them. "Sorry, son."

"Yeah." Omar retreated back to the car, suddenly not so afraid of what he was certain was going to be his death; Operation Kino.

A/N: this is probably my favorite so far…and I'm pretty sure it's the first Omar/Oc on the site, if its not someone message me! I wanna read it! Tell me what ya think of it, than send me the link or name or whatever. Tell me what you thought of this one too, of course.

Also, just as a heads up for my Aldo fic, whenever it comes out, it will contain some pretty serious racial issues, and swearing and slurs etc etc. Just as a warning.


	4. Wicki's Last Chance

A/N: Anyone who reads this will need to **pay **close **attention** to the dates. Very Important: **Read The Dates**.

**Wilhelm Wicki**

**1944**

"Well, chaps, this is us."

The Basterds exchanged a series of doubtful looks as they followed the British officer into the basement.

"You didn't say nothin' 'bout no basement," Aldo said, casting a weary glance around the well lit, empty room.

"This isn't the rendezvous point," Hicox quirked a brow, "I'm just here to introduce you to the bomb makers…assuming you want to meet them, of course."

"'Course we do!" The lieutenant snapped, "don't we fellahs?"

A chorus of "Yes sir," was heard, and the Southern man motioned for Archie to go on. With an eye roll, he went into a side room. The door was closed behind him, and only the faint sounds of voices were heard, indistinguishable.

"We're we supposed to follow or what?"

"Shut up and be patient, will ya Donowitz?"

"Yes, sir."

A moment past before the door opened, and a woman was ushered out. Her sharp gaze flickered over the men as she wiped her oiled hands on her apron. It lingered on Wicki a moment longer than the rest, smirking at his shocked features with a raised brow.

"Nora?"

"And here I thought you'd forgotten me, Wilhelm."

Archie cleared his throat awkwardly, as the men around him began to mutter. "I was unaware you two were acquainted, Mrs. Osborn."

"Well," Her dark blue eyes set on the officer's, "I was unaware that you were bringing a brigade of men into my lab, _Mr._ Hicox."

"_Mrs_?" Wicki spat, glaring at her accusingly, "You're _married_?"

"Widowed, actually." Keeping her tone even was surprisingly easy for her, and Nora ground her teeth as he scoffed at her.

"Lucky."

"Wicki…" Aldo said, shooting him a disapproving glance as the flushed woman composed herself, "now Mrs. Osborn, I'm sorry if my men have said _or done_ anything to offend you-"  
"It's fine." She sighed, swallowing her pride as she shook her head, "I shouldn't of allowed myself to be baited like that." _Again_, her subconscious teased.

There was a tense pause.

"Well…you make the bombs?"

Nora's dark eyes set on Omar, and a tight smile drifted to her lips as she nodded. "That's right."

"Can I see how?"

Donny smacked the boy upside the head as Aldo barked, "Ulmer!"

"Of course." The woman gestured towards the room, "it's a rather simple process."

Leaving the men in a stunned wake, the two disappeared.

"I don't trust her."

"Why not?"

"I know her."

"Yeah, we picked up on that," Aldo rolled his eyes at Wicki. "Why the hell not? She an ex-girlfriend, er somethin'?"

"Not exactly," He sighed, "She's an anti-Semitic."

"Oh…well-"

Wilhelm took a deep breathe, "it means she doesn't like Jews."

"Well," A lopsided grin made its way onto the lieutenant's face, "does she like Nat-zis?"

"Apparently not." He admitted, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Then she's jus' fine in my books."

**1925**

Her fingers caressed the spine of a book, almost lovingly, as her eyes flickered over various titles.

"Looking for anything specific, m'am?" his tone sounded anxious, even to his own ears, and his face reddened at his dismissal.

With out so much as glancing at him she answered, "no, thank you."

"Oh, very well." Wicki went to turn away from her, but froze at the sound of her voice.

"You're in my biology class, aren't you?" She still wasn't looking at him.

"Yes, yes I am."

The young woman, no more than eighteen, offered her hand. "Nora."

"I know, Wilhelm." This seemed to catch her attention, and as he grasped her hand.

"Oh?" She asked, a fine brow raised.

"Well, you are the only woman in the class."

"Oh," a soft flush drifted across her cheeks as she nodded, dark hair bobbing, "right."

"I think you make the professor a bit uncomfortable."

"Is that so?" Doubt filled her voice and he could practically feel her second guessing the decision to speak to him.

"Well, elderly men typically aren't very comfortable discussing sexual reproduction with a beautiful woman in the room."

The compliment didn't go unnoticed, simply unacknowledged as she teased, "But he is with a group of young men? Odd."

Smirking, she trailed her finger down another spine as she floated aimlessly down the aisle. He followed absent mindedly, completely entranced by the soft swish of her skirt.

"Is that your major?"

"No."

Wicki cleared his throat, "oh."

"Is it yours?"

"As a matter of fact it is."

Nora turned to face him, leaning against one of the book shelves. "Someone's cocky."

"Maybe a little." His brown eyes took in her curves as she laughed. "So. What _is _your major?"

"Chemistry with a minor in physics."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so shocked, one day there will be plenty of women in the sciences." The woman assured him, part of her mouth quirked upward.

Wicki smiled at her, enjoying her confidence, "hopefully that's not just wishful thinking."

"Hopefully." She agreed.

He smirked now, leaning on the shelf next to her, "because I like my women educated."

Again the implication was heard but not acknowledged as Nora licked her lips. "I think you're the only one."

"That's fine," he shrugged, "more women for me than."

A surprised giggle came from her throat, and the pair grinned at each other. "Well. That is looking on the bright side, isn't it Wilhelm?"

The young man smiled at the sound of his name, "I like to think of it as optimistic."

**1944**

Optimistic. Wicki scoffed, standing the door way as the men around him filtered off to find a place to sleep. Foolish would've been more accurate. Their meeting had led to sitting in class together (much to the disapproval of the professor, who liked to keep the young woman in the back regardless of how bright she was), to studying together to eventually well, being together. More often the latter two overlapped, and though he hated to admit it _now_, those were probably some of the best days of his life.

That is until fate, her father and Edmund got in the way.

Sighing, he dawdled in the doorway, not completely ready to commit to going down stairs yet. Not that he was exactly welcome in her lab any way.

Nora had lived the woman scorned life for over five years before she met her husband. And even then she made him go through the ringer before she let him into her bed. She spun the wedding band that still graced her finger, biting her lip as he appeared in her doorway.

Wicki's eyes dropped to her hand, narrowing them slightly, he asked. "What was his name?"

"Robert Osborn."

"You loved him?"

"Eventually, yes, I did." Her head dipped in a quick nod, and her blue eyes set on him. "Find yourself a nice all-American girl, did you?"

"No." It was low, like a confession. Wilhelm ground his teeth at the weakness in his own tone, "there was no one else."

"Pity." She said, keeping her voice impassive even though she cared more than she should have. He knew it, too.

"If you loved him like you say, I'm sorry he died." Guilt was fantastic card to play, but it troubled him that a small part of him meant it. "Do-do you have any children?"

She went back to spinning the ring, "No. Not extra the best time to have them…being in the middle of a war and all."

"Right."

An awkward silence loomed over them. But Wicki supposed it was better than the bitter tension that he had left her with.

**1937**

"So just like that, you're leaving?!"

"It's not like I want to! It's not safe here any more!" He snapped, closing his suitcase as her blue eyes regarded him with malice from the door way.  
"You fucking coward."

"Coward? You think I'm a coward because I'm not gonna let myself be loaded into some truck-"

"I think you're a coward because you're not willing to try and fight! For _anything_!" Nora screamed, tears welling up faster than she wanted them to, "_You're just running away like a child_!"

"I'm the child? You're the one whose naïve. You think anything one man could do could change this? What's happening?" He said; his voice a cold mask of condescending and anger.

She shook her head, and some of her brown hair slipped from the bun. "You could at least try, don't you owe your people that? Your family?"

"I have no family."

"I'm your family." Her tone was weak, sad, and it stopped him in his tracks as he went to brush past her.

"So that's what this is about? You?" Wilhelm snapped, glaring down at her as she shrugged.

"No. It's about you," her voice had a bite in it he hadn't heard before, "it's about you, you fucking coward." It was breezy, like an accustomed swear as hot tears fell from her eyes. "Go. Run off to America, find yourself a whore and have nice _church_ wedding because I don't want you anymore." She shook her head again, "just try not to think about me while you're gone."

Nora wouldn't meet his eyes as his bored down on her, he said, "I wasn't thinking about you when you were here."

Red rimmed blue eyes gazed up at him, her bottom lip quivering slightly, and he knew he had won. And it saddened him.

"Just go."

"Nora-"

"_I said go!"_ her palms shoved his chest roughly slamming him against the doorway as she glared up at him. "_Get out, you fuckin' _kike_! Go! Go run off to America and forget what's going on here!_"

Wicki's eyes narrowed at her and he left the door way, her last words lingering as he heard her murmur, "_fucking coward_."

**1944**

She couldn't say how long she stood there; staring into the empty apartment they had shared for years. Or how long she grieved him. Even now as he stood in front of her, Nora still did.

"So. Was it everything you expected?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Pretty much." Wilhelm shrugged, "they weren't very fond of me after the war broke out."

"Mhm."

"What?"

A head shake answered his question, and she shrugged as he moved a little furtherer into the room.

"Can I ask one more question before you send me from the room?"

"I suppose."

"Why'd you marry him? After everything you went through to get out of a marriage…"

"He was a good man. Loved me." Nora smiled softly, "and _I_ wanted to."

**1931**

Her father smiled at her. "It's great isn't it?"

"That's not exactly the word I'd use." Her wide eyes looked from his grinning face to the man next to him. "I-I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to say, Nora! This is great! You can put all that silly schooling behind you and finally settle down!"

She continued to stare at them. "But I don't want to." Locking eyes with Edmund, she tried to assure him, "it's nothing personal, honest, it's just-"

"Cold feet." Her father shook his head, "think nothing of it darling, it _will_ pass."

"I can provide for you," the other, _older_ man took a seat across from her, his hand covering hers. "I've watched you grow up. You've become a beautiful woman, and I would make a good husband for you. Don't you want children? A family?"

"Yes of course, but-"

"But nothing." Her father insisted, her tone taking on an edge. "Edmund and I have already made the arrangement. It's agreed upon."

"But what about-"

A scoff came from the man. "If this is about your little Jewish boy, well, he'll just have to go."

"It's not just about him," A panicked sighed escaped her throat as she looked between them, "can't we discuss this?"

"There is nothing to discuss." Blue eyes looked down at her, "you will marry Edmund, end of story."

-

Days past, and Wicki hadn't so much as heard a word from her. It was concerning. He'd stopped by her house, but there was no answer. Hell, he even tried her parents' house, but her mother had dismissed him rather quickly.

Well, she wouldn't get away from him tonight. He was waiting on the steps of the lab when she spotted him.

"Wilhelm." Breathless tone, flushed cheeks, not meeting his eyes…

"What's wrong?"

Nora darted down the steps, moving past him she shrugged. "It's nothing."

He caught her arm, "don't lie to me, Nora, you're not good at that."

"You know Edmund?"

"Your father's business partner?" He asked, earning a nod from her, "what about him?"

"I'm-I'm," God this was so much harder when he was looking at her. "I'm supposed to marry him. This Sunday."

"What?" Wilhelm froze, holding her arm a little tighter. "What do you mean you're going to marry him?"

"It wasn't my idea," the woman muttered, "my father says-"

"Fuck your father! This has nothing to do with your father!" He snapped, "were you even going to tell me, or was I suppose to just show up at the wedding?"

"I don't want to."

Her shoulders shook under his hands as he grasped them, "then don't."

"I have to. It's been arranged." Nora's eyes looked up at him, helpless. "I'm sorry."

"Tell him no." his fingers dug into her shoulders, "tell him he can't have you-that you don't want him."

"I can't," Her voice cracked, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Wicki spat, "I'll show you sorry."

Shoving her back against the alley's concrete wall, Wilhelm captured her lips in a rough kiss. No way in hell another man was going to have the woman he loved. Had loved for years, _would_ love for years. His hand curled under her skirt, pulling her panties down as her nimble fingers tugged on the collar of his jacket. Pushing it back, Nora moved from his hold, planting soft kisses on every bit of exposed skin she could see, feel, in the darkness.

A whimper escaped her throat as he slammed into her, making her take him in one thrust. Grinding her hips into his, she gently caressed his face as he cocked a leg over his hip.

No one seemed to notice the lovers' scandalous embrace as the street lamps flickered on.

Apart from the barbaric movement of their hips, the process was rather gentle. Her hands ran tenderly through his dark hair, Nora caressed his shoulders as he latched onto any inch of available skin, tears slipping from their eyes. It would only be a matter of time before she did this with someone else. A man she barely knew because her father disapproved of Wilhelm.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, brushing her fingers over his face as they slowed, "I'm so sorry."

"Tell him no."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," He said, pulling out of her, "you're the one that will be miserable."

And he left her, cold and shamed in the alley.

-

Sunday came too quickly for his liking, and Wicki found himself drowning his sorrows with a bottle. His place was small, completely inappropriate for a family. He couldn't provide for her. His dad had left him the book shop when he died, a business that was stirring up very little profit in light of the depression, and his dreams of science were put on the back burner.

A cigarette hung off one hand as he took a swig from the bottle.

He didn't even hear the door open.

"Hi."

A brow arched at the girl in the door way. "Shouldn't you be at the church?"

"Well, yes," the eleven year old's head bobbed as she toed the carpet, "but so should you!"

"What?" Wilhelm stared at her. "Why?"

"To stop the wedding!" Ada shrieked, "you have to! Edmund is _old_!"

"That's not my problem," He grumbled, ignoring the child's crestfallen look. "Your sister should stop it herself."

"She tried, but papa got all mad and said he'd disown her and he'd lose the business and-"

He raked a hand through his hair, "Alright, I get it."

"So, you'll stop it right?"

"Why should i?"

Ada's shoulder's rose and fell in a familiar motion, "because you love her."

-

Spinning the veil in her hands, Nora paced the small back room as the curtains fluttered behind her. Frustrated, hurt, angry, all good words to describe her, and all terrible words to describe a bride.

"Ich hasse dich, vater."

"That's a little harsh."

The veil fell to the ground, and she looked to the open window to find him smirking in at her. Hopping onto the windowsill, he climbed through with ease. Wilhelm stopped at the sight of her. "You look beautiful."

Her dark brown hair fell on her shoulders, teasing the white material she was draped in.

"Thank you."

"Wanna go for a walk?"

"My-"

"Come on," his hand slipped into hers, and tugged it. "Just a walk."

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. "Just a walk? Minutes before I'm supposed to walk down the aisle?"

"Your sister won't disown you. You'll still have your family."

Nora stared at him a long time. "Let me change."

**1944**

His fingers brushed her cheek, leaving her to wonder when exactly he had gotten so close.

"I may never see you again." He whispered, keeping his eyes on her soft features.

A dry chuckle came from her, "so? Not the first time we've crossed this bridge."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're only sorry because you want to fuck me."

"Stop pretending you're mad, we both know you're just hurt." His lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. "It never would've worked."

"It worked for twelve years, Wilhelm." Nora shook her head, "I left my family for you, and you just left me."

"I had no home to bring you to."

She bit her lip, and pulled his hand from her face, "you were home."

Wicki's brown eyes swept over her pale features. "It would be one night, Nora. No one would know."

"I would." Nora said. "I know the concept of loyalty is a strange one to you, but I loved my husband."

"I never said you didn't."

"He's only been gone a month, I can't just dive back into bed with a man because he bats his eyes at me. It'd be disrespectful."

A sigh came from him. "I understand."

"Do you?" Skeptically, an eye brow rose.

He nodded, "there's been no one since you."

"It's not the same."

"I know."

Nora kissed his cheek, smiling slightly. "I do love you. Just…"

"Not like you used to." Wicki finished. "I love you, too, Nora."

Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he nodded, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

-

Word came the next night of his death. And it was like losing Robert all over again.


	5. Aldo's Colour Blind

Aldo Raine; Again just want to warn everybody racial tensions are high in this fic. You've been warned.

**1905**

She was stunning.

Positively the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

Of course, he was six, but that hardly mattered. Aldo peeked out at her from the window as she and her mother did his laundry. Well, her mother did the laundry, she would smile, an expression that lit up her dark features, and hand her a clothes pin when needed. She also seemed to be attempting to fold some things. it seemed to be proving to be a trifle difficult, and Marion often took it off her, redoing it for the child.

Marion Evans had worked for his family since before he was born, and sometimes on weekends, she brought her daughter with her.

Lydia.

"Aldo-are you listening to me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then, what did I just say?"

The boy glanced at his mother, barely taking his eyes off the females in the yard. "Ya said, are you listenin' ta me."

"Are you listen_ing_ _to_ me. Just once would you pronounce the entire word?" Victoria rolled her eyes, "you've been spending too much time with that housekeeper, honestly."

"Can I-"

"Just go," she waved him off with little patience, sighing as her son darted down the stairs. "We just had to get a coloured maid."

Her husband chuckled, but didn't look up from his newspaper.

-

"Uh, mama…"

"Yes?"

"There's a boy starin' at us."

The mother's eyes didn't stray from the sheet she was adjusting for so much as a moment. "I know, dear, don't worry. That's just Aldo."

"Aldo." Lydia repeated, tilting her head as he moved a little bit further behind the house. "Where's he goin'?"

"You probably scared 'im off with all yer questions." Marion teased, watching horror flutter across the five year old's face.

"I didn't mean ta!"

Chuckling, the woman shook her head. "Well, why don't you go ask him?"

"Fine," the child said, a hint of defiance in her tone, "I will then."

"You do that."

…

"Are you goin' or not?"

"I'm thinkin'!" she snapped, huffing as she dug the toe of her shoe into the dirt. "Why's he hidin'?"

Marion shrugged, "Probably just shy."

"Oh." The little one tugged at the make shift apron that was draped across her. With another moment of hesitation, she ran off to find the boy behind the house.

-

"What'cha doin'?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice, or rather the proximity of it. Spinning around, he faced her. Big brown eyes, dark hair that was pulled back in a bandana, just like her mother's, sweet, warm features and skin as dark as chocolate. She was a lot prettier up close. "How'd-"

"You scared'a girls or somethin'?" Her head tilted as she smiled, those big eyes squinting slightly.

"No, I ain't scared'a no _girl_." He stood up a little straighter, even though she was confediant that she was taller. "I ain't scared'a nothin'."

Lydia bit her lip, confusion written clearly over her face, "Then why ya hidin'?"

"'Cause my ma'll skin me if she catches me hangin' round you." He said, blushing slightly as she stepped a little closer.

"Why?"

""Cause yer coloured."

"So? So'er you."

Aldo looked at her, his expression mirroring hers. "No I'm not."

"Yes ya are." She nodded, "yer white, that's a colour."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"Why? You got blue eyes, that's a colour."

Another blush crossed his cheeks and a giggled escaped her lips. "Pink, too."

"It's just different." He shrugged, "and my ma don't like it."

"Oh." Veronica Raine wasn't the easiest person to get along with, and the girl had received more than one verbal lashing from her. Shrugging, she stuck out her palm. "Well, I'm Lydia Evans."

He grinned at her, taking her small hand in his, "Aldo Raine."

A firm shake sealed their fate. They were stuck with each other.

**1916**

As they aged, and grew more experienced in the way of the world, Lydia found herself doing more of the hiding.

She liked Aldo. As her mother pointed out, perhaps a bit too much. Marion wouldn't have been so concerned if it had been a one sided affection, but Aldo (Mister Raine, as Lydia now referred to him as) often made a point to ask her about her daughter. And it was worrying, especially when she had to let Lydia work the weekend by herself so Marion could help her ailing aunt.

These weekends were becoming more and more frequent, and Aldo's parents were often out of town. As business owners, and just wealthy people in general, they had appearances to keep up. And their son just did not fit the bill of young aristocrat.

He was leaning in the door frame again. But she paid him no mind as she went about making the bed.

"Anything I can help ya with?"

A smile fluttered over her lips, and Lydia was glad her back was to him, "I don't think that's a good idea, mister Raine."

"You can call me Aldo," He said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. The same hint that was there every time they had this conversation.

"No I can't." She murmured, shaking her head as he moved a little further in to the room.

"Not even in private?"

Lydia turned, and met his stare head on. "Especially not in private."

"Why not?" he asked, looking down at her as they stood a few feet apart.

"You know why not."

"Because'a my parents?"

"Because you're white." She snapped, her brown eyes jumping to his as he spoke.

"You don't like white folks?"

"They don't seem to like me, mister Raine."

His fingers brushed hers, as her hands clutched the white top cover tightly. "I like ya," he said, quietly, smiling softly as her.

"Which is why I'm gonna keep callin' ya mister Raine." Her tone was final, and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

So, he stepped away, clearing his throat. His blue eyes flickered with amusement as he noticed her grip on the sheet. "So, doin' laundry?"

"Yes, sir." A hint of a smile tugged at her lips as he let the tension slide. He was good at that.

"Anythin' I can do?" Her eyes rolled dramatically, and he chuckled, "alright, alright…how 'bout I keep ya company then?"

"I suppose that would be fine." They shared a smile, unaware that their private conversation was lingering in his mother's ears.

-

"_Dismissed_? What'd'ya mean she's been _dismissed_?!"

Victoria shrugged, "she was caught stealing some silver wear, we can't have a thief skulking about our home, Aldo."

"She's never stolen a damn thing from this house!" He screamed, staring at her incredulously as her eyes narrowed.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy. You knew we couldn't keep her around for ever."

Aldo panted, "why the hell not? She's a good worker, she and her mother-"

"She was let go as well."

"What?! Marion's worked here since before I was born!"

Victoria set her jaw as she he continued to rant, "Look, Aldo, we simply can't have the distraction around."

"Distraction?" He paused, raising a brow.

She nodded, "me and your father both agree. That girl was interfering too much."

"What?"

"I saw the way you looked at that girl," Her shoulders squared as she scoffed, "now that was all well and fine when you were children, but for god's sakes Aldo, you're a grown man. You should know better."

His blue eyes widened as she went on, "You need to start thinkin' about a wife, a family," Her glare met his and Victoria's tone could match a razor's edge, "and no son of mine is going to find either of those things in a coloured girl."

Fighting the urge to slap her(he was a southern gentleman after all), the young man stormed out of the house.

_Wife and family, huh_? He ground his teeth as he heading into the recruiting building. _I'll fix her_.

-

Aldo had only been to her house once. It was in an all black neighborhood, and while he'd like to say he felt at ease there, he did not. Distrustful eyes were on him at all times, and he wondered if this was how she felt in his neighborhood.

That was foolish, of course it was.

He knocked once, and the door was promptly opened. Marion stood, arms folded over her chest as she took in the sight of him.

A scrawny boy of seventeen, clad in an army uniform. A brow lifted at his choice in attire before she shook her head. "I suppose you wanna see Lydia?"

"Please, I'll make it real quick."

"Sayin' goodbye are ya?"

"Yes, m'am." He nodded, a pink hue rising on his cheeks, "please?"

Sighing, she ushered him into the house. It was small, but since there were only two people living in it, that was understandable. It wasn't brightly lit or decorated like his, but for whatever reason he felt more at home there than he ever had in his own house. He entered the small living area and let his eyes rest on her a moment.

He suddenly realized why it felt like home.

Lydia's brown eyes widened at the sight of him, and a hand rose to her mouth as she looked him up and down. "You-you enlisted?"

"I'll give you two a moment," Marion muttered, and ducted out of the room.

"I had to get outta there, they- they were sayin' some things…" Aldo looked at her, "I figure this is the ultimate way to sass 'em."

But no smile rose to her lips, in fact he thought she might even cry as she shook her head. "You could die."

"I know."

"And what? Ya think that's the proper way ta punish 'em? Killin' their only son?"

He shook his head, "I think I need this."

"You're sure?" She closed some of the distance between them, until she was less than a foot away, "you're sure this is what you want?"

"Yeah, Di, I think it is."

Her lips quirked at the childhood nickname and she nodded, "jus' promise you'll write?"

"I promise."

They stared at each other along while, just taking in every detail of the other's presence before Marion cleared her throat some where in the background.

"I guess I should go," He muttered.

She nodded, "I guess." Lydia stuck her hand out, grinning like a child. "It was nice knowin' ya, Aldo Raine."

"You too, Lydia Evans." His thumb grazed her knuckles as he held her hand, and she squeezed his just a little tighter.

**1919**

"Ya know, darlin', cookin' really ain't your strong point."

Lydia rolled her eyes, "thanks, ma."

"Never gonna catch a man that way." Marion teased, remembering the small stack of letters the girl had stored away in her night stand, "'less 'course ya got one and just ain't tellin' me."

"No, ma, I ain't got a man."

"Good." It wasn't that she disliked Aldo, hell she helped raise him. She just knew how…complicated things could get. A knock on the door roused her from her fear and she stood. "Want me ta get that?"

"Would you?" The young woman tossed her a weak smile as she attempted to fix the mess she had made of the kitchen.

Chuckling, she opened the door, and her jaw dropped. Blinking her surprise back she smiled at the b-_man_. "Come in then." Not taking her eyes off him, she called out for her daughter as she closed the door.

"What is it, mama?" Big brown eyes widened at him as a grin stretched over her face. He looked so different, he had a bit more muscle, filled out his jacket better. But the eyes were the same. "Aldo?"

"Hi, Lydia." He was beaming, not taking his eyes off hers as Marion shifted awkwardly behind him. "Ya look…" God, she was beautiful. Her curves had set in, and her black hair hung in tight curls that were, once again, tucked under that damn bandana. But those big brown eyes were the same. "Great."

"Yer folks know yer here?" Marion asked, not particularly liking the way he was looking at the young woman.

"No," He shook his head, not taking his eyes from Lydia's, "not goin' home, m'am."

"Oh?"

A brow cocked as her head tilted, "Why not?"

"Lydia, it's none'a our-"

"Didn't like what she had to say." They continued to grin at each other and the mother finally got fed up with watching it.

"Aldo Raine you stop makin' bedroom eyes at my daughter this instant!"

"Mama!"

His blue eyes dropped to the floor, "sorry. Didn't mean ta."

Marion sighed, ignoring Lydia's hurt stare as she spoke. "I know you had a fight with ya parents but are ya sure it's best to just up an' leave 'em like that?"

"Why shouldn't I? They don't know as much as they think they do." Aldo never told them what drove him out of the house, but both had a fair idea.

"Ma, you think maybe I could have a minute with Aldo, ya know, alone?" Lydia asked, not taking her eyes from the man before her.

"One minute," Marion warned, "I'll be in the kitchen if ya need me."

"Look, Di, I-"

Her arms were tight around his waist the moment her mother was out of sight. Aldo's eyes fluttered closed as he gripped her closer. He'd wondered what this would be like, holding her, touching her. Lydia buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the light scent of tobacco.

"I got yer letters."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head gently as he rocked her.

**1921 **

"Come on, I bet ya let that Raine kid up ya skirt, why not us?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Leave me alone," Lydia snapped, side stepping the Quinn brothers.

"Aw, what? Yer man don't like ta share that sweet, black-" A hand tugged at her skirt and she batted his hand away.

"Piss off!"

"Hey!" The pair turned to face the shop keeper, "I thought I told you two to leave that girl alone!"

With annoyed grumbles, the boys ran off, and Lydia entered the shop.

"You gotta tell Aldo 'bout them, Lydia, their gettin' worse."

"I know." She murmured.

Jeremy eyed her sympathetically, "you're lucky you haven't got yourself lynched."

Wincing at the thought, she played dumb. "What'd you mean?"

"I mean, you got that boy over all the time, hangin' 'round ya. Gives a rather…unsettling message to the Clan."

"Well, fuck the Clan, Jerry, he's just a friend."

"You can say that," he nodded, but his eyes gave away his disbelief, "but we both know it ain't true."

A sigh escaped her throat. He was right.

-

"Aldo Raine."

He glanced at the man in front of him, a glare quickly contorting his features, "Calvin Quinn." He spat.

"Saw that little nigger girl'a yours." Calvin smirked as his brother chuckled, "fine little ass she's got."

"Get outta here, Quinn, yer gonna get yerself hurt." Aldo grit his teeth as the man laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure I will." His smirk widened slightly, "say, why don't you and yer little slut come on down to the river t'night?"

Aldo's eyes widened at the implication, and he growled, "You stay the hell away from her, Quinn or so help me god-"

"God? You think God's gonna forgive you for what'cha been doin' with that coloured whore?"

His hands were around his collar in a flash, and Aldo jerked him up to his height, "I said you stay the hell'a way from her, Quinn. Or so help me god I will scalp you _alive_."

The fear that had been sparked in his eyes turned to amusement as he laughed. "Alright. You got it. We'll leave her alone."

"What?"

"Shut up, Richie." Calvin said, still smirking as he back out of the shop, "Come on."

The two left the tobacco shop and the younger brother glanced at him, "What'cha thinkin', Cal?"

"I'm thinkin'," The older boy smirked, "if he likes niggers so much, let's treat 'em like one."

"You don't mean-"

"Yep. We're gonna hang the sonofabitch."

-

"I don't like it." Lydia bit her lip as Aldo paced in front of her, "why'd you have to let them get to you?"  
"I don't like it when they talk about ya." He muttered, glaring at the floor of the shop as he sighed.

She smiled softly at him, shrugging indifferently. "It's just talk. It doesn't bother me."

"Jerry says they been yankin' at ya again." When she dropped his eyes he knew it was true, "why didn't ya tell me?"

"I didn't want ya pickin'-"

A crash was heard from outside and the two darted out to the front of the shop, just in time to catch the tell tale hit of white uniforms.

"Go, get in the back." It was a quiet command, and with a stern push, Aldo moved her back.

"But-"

"Stay here." Her mouth opened to argue, but his lips on hers shut her up, "just stay here, alright?"

"Alright."

"_Aldo Raine! Get yer ass out her_e_!"_

He sighed, but followed the order, and remained unfazed as the men grabbed him, hauling him into the back of a truck. To take him to the river.

-

The river. That goddamn river. The place was lit up like a fuckin' fair ground as people crowded around a noose. All dressed in white. All there to watch him drop. He sucked in a breathe as he licked his lips, a faint taste of Lydia greeting him.

"You know why yer here?"

Aldo kept his eyes dead forward as the man went on. "We can still let ya go ya know. Our problem ain't with you." Calvin smirked as he leaned closer, knowing full well the man couldn't touch him with his hands tied behind his back, "just say you fucked the nigger girl, and we'll let ya go."

"I didn't fuck a nigger," He spat the word out like a harsh swear, "I fucked a woman. And I'd do it again!" A swift kick was sent in the boy's direction and he grunted as it hit his chest.

"Fine!" Calvin swore under his breathe, "Well, we'll be sure ta give the little bitch the message when we have a go at that African pussy," he nodded to some one behind him. "Drop 'im."

His legs flew out from under him, but the weight wasn't enough to snap his neck. The crowd cheered as he sputtered, thrashing and choking. All expect one. One man knew of Aldo's military record, and as it would be one thing to have a simple snap, he wasn't about to let him choke to death.

At least not without a bag over his head.

-

Lydia stayed in the back room well into the morning, unable to bring herself to go home. She couldn't. Another painful sob raked her body as she wrapped her arms around her waist. Bile rose in her throat, and she emptied the contents of her stomach in to a small sink in the corner. Letting out a dry heave, she continued to cry as some one entered the back room.

"This is all your fault." Victoria said.

Lydia nodded, "I know," more tears slid down her face as the older woman eyed her. Wiping her tears away, she gasped before vomiting again.

"If you had just stayed away-"

"I know! You think I don't know!? The only man I ever loved is dead because I was selfish! You think I don't know!?" Her screech was loud and her voice broken as she finally fell back, leaning her head against the wall. She turned her face away. "I'm sorry."

"Well." Victoria sighed, "You should be. Now get up, he wants to see you."

Brown eyes blinked up at her. "What?"

"Get up, come on."

"He's-Aldo's alive?" A grin almost split her face apart as she stood.

The woman nodded, "he's in rough shape, but he should be fine."

Forgetting herself, Lydia threw her arms around her. The woman physically tensed, but she didn't let go.

"Thank you."

"Come on."

-

Aldo awoke to a very pleasant feeling. Soft fingers gently ran through his dark hair, and he blinked his blue eyes open to see Lydia leaning over him.

Opening his mouth to speak, it was silenced as she kissed him. Very lightly, before going back to stroking his hair. The pain in his throat subsided, and he drifted back to sleep.

-

Days past, and he now found himself well enough to speak.

Well, rant.

"Those sons of bitches think they can jus'-"

"Aldo."

"-Go 'round liftin' up yer skirt an' tale ya jus' 'cause-" his voice was thick and gravelly, and he had to pause every few moments to swallow, but he was very effectively getting his point across.

Too bad he wasn't letting Lydia get a word in edge wise. "Aldo."

"-I ain't around!"

"I'm pregnant."

"Ain't like I'm ever that fara-" He looked at her, eyes wide. "What?"

"I'm pregnant." She repeated, brushing some of her hair back as he stared at her.

A grin lit up his face, catching her off guard.

"You're not mad?"

"No. Of course not, I always wanted a family." He licked his lips, and took her hand, "and I can't think'a anyone else I'd rather have it with."

Lydia fought to hide her smile, "People will talk," she warned.

"They already talk, Di. We'll find a priest, settle down."

The smile faded slightly, "Aldo, there ain't no priest this side'a Tennessee that's gonna marry us."

"I've had no problem livin' in sin before, 'ave you?"

"No," she smiled.

"Good. Come 'ere."

**1922**

And on August 8th, 1922 Clare Evan Raine was born.

**1941**

"And you're sure you have to go?"

"You knew what you were gettin' in ta when ya shacked up with me, Di." Aldo cupped her chin as she looked up at him. "I'll be fine. I always am."

"That was before you were up against the whole third Reich, Aldo Raine." Lydia teased, but there was legitimate concern behind it. "You know we worry."

"I know. You think I don't worry about you girls when I'm gone?"

"How am I supposed to know what you worry about? You're _gone_."

His pale fingers brushed her smooth, dark skin. "I love you, Lydia."

"I love you, too, Aldo. Now just hurry up and get back." They shared one last kiss before he left the house.

But at least this time he knew everything would be fine, because this time he had something to fight for. His eyes drifted back to the house, his wife just visible in the window. Something great.

**1945**

"You sure your family won't mind me staying?"

"For the hundredth time, Utivich, _no_." Aldo rolled his eyes as he opened the door. "Hello?"

A quiet voice called out, "In the kitchen."

"Whose that?"

"Oh, that's Clare, my daughter."

"I thought you said she was just a kid." Smithson blushed, as he followed his lieutenant in to the kitchen.

"Twenty three's a kid." Aldo smirked.

The young woman's face lit up as her brown eyes met her father's, "Mama's at the market. Should be back soon, though."

"Good, come 'ere," He held his only child a long moment before directing her attention to the boy. "This here's Smithson Utivich."

"Oh?" Clare smiled at him as she shook his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah, me too." He grinned, "Well, sort of."

The girl laughed quietly and Aldo's gaze flickered between the two.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

A/N: Alright, here it was. Aldo's fic. I'll probably do Hicox or Landa's next, but I wanted to put this up b.c if you haven't guessed, I'm using Clare in my Utivich fic. No Anya. If Donny gets a new oc so does Utivich. It's only fair. Also, this is my first happy ending in like ever, so I'm dedicating it to GoldSilver02.


	6. Hicox's Dirty Laundry

Archie Hicox

**1940**

Apprehensive. Perhaps a tad nervous even.

But the newly appointed Lieutenant was the picture of confidence. Even if he was being shown off by the Captain like he was a shiny new penny. Which, while faltering, was rather…boring. The room was filled with high ranking military officers, most of which were veterans from the Great War. Men Archie was sure would make fine contacts if the need arose, and of course, their well to do wives.

The only exception being a lone woman, her dark red dress a rose among thrones in a drab sea of grayscale. She had his attention without so much as batting an eye at him.  
"Captain?"

"Yes, Hicox, what is it?" The older man lifted a brow curiously as he tried to figure out what had his soldier's attention so enrapt.

Archie indicated with his index finger, subtly. "Who is that?"

"Oh," a smirk lit up Harling's face, "that would be Miss Viola Fuchs. She's one of our top agents inside the _SS._"

"A spy?"

"One of our finest."

_Well, isn't she just a Pandora's box_. He thought, eyes dancing as his superior made him the offer he had been expecting.

"Care to meet her?"

Blue eyes swept over the woman's giving silhouette, and he nodded, "I suppose."

-

Her nails tapped rhythmically on her half filled glass. Her dark brown eyes taking in the mundane sight of old men gossiping about what she considered trivial matters such as troop supplies and placement.

She flashed the man in front of her another tight smile as he prattled on about Stalin and Churchill and "Those good for nothing Kruats. No offense, Miss Fuchs."

"Think nothing of it, sir." If he noticed the edge in her voice, he ignored it as he smiled.

"Good to know some of those Jerries can still serve a half decent purpose." A heavy hand patted her bare shoulder before the obnoxious man disappeared into the crowd.

_Probably scoping out his next victim_, Viola mused, downing the remnants of her glass.

"Going a little hard on the Cherie this evening, are we, pet?"

"Captain," She greeted, clearing her throat to rid it of the pleasant burn as he kissed her cheeks.

A grin stretched over his face as he noted Hicox shuffling somewhat awkwardly behind him, "how've you been, darling?"

"Aside from having to suffer through prestigious, albeit dull, chit-chat?" She shrugged, smiling as her head dipped in a nod, "fine, thank you."

Sensing a need to bring the young man into the conversation, Harling put a hand on his back, coaxing him forward. "I don't believe you've met my newest lieutenant, entertain him, will you?"

With that he promptly left, leaving her to laugh at his abruptness, and Archie to gawk at his gull. Son of a bitch left him high and dry. With a stunning blonde, mind you, but high and dry none the less.

"Well," A cough came from him as he met her brown eyes, "I suppose introductions are in order, I'm Archie-"

"Hicox." She finished, smirking playfully at him, "oh I've heard all about you tonight. Movie critic turned military man, is that correct?"

"Yes it would seem as such, Miss Fuchs."

"Viola. Only the older gentlemen call me Miss Fuchs."

"Very well, _Viola_," The name was sweet on his tongue, practically honey as her eyes sparkled up at him. It seemed she had a rather pleasing reaction to it as well. "I hear you're an agent?"

"That's right. You don't mind assertive women, do you?"

"Not at all." A knowing smile drifted over his lips as she eyed his metals, "you don't mind assertive men, do you?"

"I like my men assertive, Archie," A cool, tan finger stroked one of the metals adorning his collar, "and I think you might just fit the bill."

"Might?" They were close now, too close to be innocently conversing, and Hicox wondered if she could feel the heat rising under his collar. Her index finger grazed his neck, and he was certain she could.

"Well, lieutenant, a real lady always needs a bit of persuasion." The soft digit ran down to the small clasp of his jacket.

He cocked a brow, eying her empty glass with some hesitation. "Been dipping into the brandy, have we, love?"

"This is my first glass," Viola assured him, smirking as she teased, "and it's whiskey. Not sure why you _blokes_ are so insistent it's something feminine."

"My apologies. Didn't mean to offend."

"Hm." She didn't quite believe that, his smirk gave more away than he knew. "Would you care to take this discussion to the patio, lieutenant?"

Archie took her glass and set it on a nearby table. "I'd like that." Offering his arm, he guided her out of the warm building and into the crisp night air.

The wind blew a strand of blonde hair from her updo. His light blue eyes following it as it tickled her neck.

Viola turned to face the yard, leaving her tan, bare back exposed to him. His fingers twitch, and for a moment he almost allowed them to caress the soft skin. But he remembered himself as she spoke.

"So, Archie, what makes a man leave a successful career in writing for the tedious tasks of a manned military man?" There was a brash charm about her that he found appealing, and he had some trouble tearing his eyes from the exposed flesh as he stood next to her.

"Sense of duty I suppose." Hicox watched her raise a doubting brow, but she didn't press him. "What about you, than? How's a lovely little thing like you end up a spy?"  
"Laying it on thick are we?"

"Just a tad, darling."

"My mother was British, my father German. When the war broke out, I had to pick a side," Her shoulders bobbed in an ungraceful shrug, "I chose the considerably lesser of two evils."

"Disagree with Hitler's policies?"

"Kind of hard to agree with," Viola said, as if she was astounded any one ever could. "Genocide has never been my cup of tea, lieutenant."

Heated brown eyes gazed with at him with an unwavering edge. A flush rose on her cheeks as he stroked the blonde strand that had escaped earlier, his own eyes moving over her body. The woman moved closer to him, sweeping her hand up his arm as she did. Nimble fingers plucked the first button of his jacket open.

"Bold, Miss Fuchs."

"Oh, bold, am I?" The cool digits swept under his collar, gently thumbing his throat.

"Yes," Hicox fought the shudder that crept up his spine, "Yes, you are."

A chuckle fell from her lips as she noticed his fingers shaking around her disobedient lock, "Perhaps you're just too accustom to those sweet, British flowers…" Her lips lingering just under his as she teased, "you don't know when you have a real woman in front of you."

"Perhaps," He purred, desperately trying to remember himself, where he was, who was inside, who could be watching them. She smiled at him, suggestively.

"Why don't I show you what a real woman can do, Archie?"

Oh sweet lord, how he was tempted. "I'd like that," he admitted, but his hand gently pulled hers down, "but I'm afraid I'd be taking advantage of your virtue."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're mildly intoxicated," Archie smirked as she rolled her eyes dramatically, "and I wouldn't want to put you in a position that you may end up regretting, Miss-"

"_Viola_," She corrected, her mind going to all the different positions she's like to put him in.

"Viola."

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned, leaning against the rail that separated the patio from the garden. Playful brown eyes shifted to him, "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you are the delicate British flower, lieutenant."

Plucking a flower from the garden, the Brit slid it behind her ear, a satisfied smirk on his lips as the woman flushed. "I think to think of myself as a gentleman."

"That's all well and fine, Archie." The skin went back to tan as she twirled the morning glory between her fingers. "But if I was any kind of lady we wouldn't be having this conversation…much less making out on the patio like a couple of teenagers."

"But we aren't-"

Her taste registered before the kiss itself. A bitter mix of whiskey and heat that caused him to moan as Viola dipped her tongue into his mouth. The second button on his jacket came undone, but Archie paid it no mind as his arms slipped around her waist. His hands searched out the soft curves that were draped in the red silk. The material shifted on her shoulders as one of the straps fell.

"Not here," he murmured, promptly pulling her away from the patio to a more secluded part of the yard.

Her hands went back to his tousled hair as she pulled him closer. His hips dug into hers as she desperately tried to force his jacket off. She was almost too focused on him to noticed the trail of sweet nips he was planting on her neck, her shoulder, her-

Viola gasped, wondering when her dress had fallen to pool around her waist as he latched onto her nipple. Sucking it roughly, Hicox lifted one of her legs, cocking to his hip as she slid her hands under his coat. She fisted the undershirt as she cupped his face, bringing him back to her lips for another steamy kiss.

"Perhaps," He breathed, "we should take this back to my apartment?"

Her eyes sparkled up at him. _Oh, he is just too easy_, "I'd like that."

-

There relationship grew over the coming months, and, much to Archie's pleasure, the woman had more or less taken up residence in his home.

When she was in town, any way.

Viola clipped an earring on as he dressed somewhere behind her. A pensive look on her sharp features, she let the mask rise as he gently ran a finger down her spine.

Her dresses were always backless, something he was considerably thankful for as he caressed the soft flesh tenderly. A shudder of shame went through her, and she closed her eyes as Archie moved to stand behind her.

"Everything alright, darling?" A hand slid between the soft skin and heavy fabric as he traced his thumb over her stomach.

She leaned back against his chest, sighing as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Fine," the hitch in her voice went ignored as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. "Don't mess my hair up, Hicox."

He chuckled, moving his other hand to stroke the deep dip of the dress's front. "Wouldn't dream of it."

A weary hand reached up and captured his, and Viola brought it to her lips. Offering it a chaste kiss, she sighed again, "we should get going."

-

The party was going quite smoothly until Harling approached them. His lips were a thin line, and the two men behind him looked no less sympathetic.

"Harling," The lieutenant grinned, "how've you been?"

_Good lord, he doesn't know_, the older gentleman's eyes softened at him a moment, before they settled back on Viola. "A word, Miss Fuchs?"

"Of course, Captain." Her blonde hair shifted as she moved from Hicox's touch, promptly following him out of the crowded room. Her dark brown eyes met Archie's blue ones just as the door closed.

"Miss Viola Fuchs you are under arrest by order of the Queen for espionage." Metal cuffs closed around her wrists, and she made no move to fight them as they led her out of the building.

"One moment, gents." He dismissed them easily, before turning to the young woman who looked at him expectantly. Jonathan Harling did not believe in violence against women, but he couldn't help himself. Her head whipped back as he slapped her, but again she did nothing to resist.

"How could you? How could you deceive us like this?" he demanded, watching her with cold green eyes as she licked her split lip. "Well?"

"It was my role to play." Her replied was delivered flawlessly, completely void of emotion as she met his eyes.

Harling shook his head sullenly, "this will break his heart, you know."

"I know."

"Do you care at all?"

There was no response to that, and Jonathan motion for the men to take her away.

-

He shouldn't have been pitying her. He should've been bitter and angry.

But he wasn't. She wasn't the strong woman in the ball room she had been a few hours ago. Right now she was just another prisoner of war.

Her dress was tattered and torn, showing off even more of her tan skin. Most of which seemed bruised, or at least that's what Archie assumed. It was hard to tell in the cell's dim light. Her blonde hair had been tugged out of its tight bun, and he fought the cringe he felt coming.

She didn't look up as he stood in front of the bars. Her brown eyes darting to his legs only a moment.

"Well?"

"Well what?" She asked, quirking a brow.

"Did-" He looked at the young man guarding them, "do you mind, private?"

"Sorry sir," The boy flushed, darting out of the room as Archie redirected his blue eyes to her battered frame.

His voice was low, and she could just barely hear it. "Did you care about me at all, or was I just another part of your ploy?"

There was a long silence. Viola licked the split in her lip before asking, "Can it be both?"

"No," he scoffed, tears prickling his eyes, "it really can't."

"I'm sorry you were hurt." Her voice was level, and it seemed sincere.

_But that doesn't make it true_, he thought, _she's lied to you before_. Hicox chuckled humorlessly, "Perhaps you should've tried your hand at movies rather than politics."

"Perhaps you should have stuck to them." There was an edge in her voice, and she scratched her nails along her knee when she realized her lip was quivering.

"Perhaps." He sighed. Leaning against the cool metal bars as he looked at her. "Why'd you do it?"

"It's my job."

"There has to be more than that."

"Why? To ease your conscience? Regardless, you fucked a Nazi." He closed his eyes at the harsh swear, but listened as she went on. "My reasons don't matter. And don't pretend they do."

"Of course they do." His tone was condescending and simple, "Maybe I could get them to show some leniency-"

"Leniency?" She spat, "like what? Letting me choose between a noose and a firing squad?"

"You don't know that!" Archie glared at her, god why was she making this so difficult, "God, Viola, you could at least pretend to care about all this!"

"Why? Why should I? I can't change it and neither can you, so just shut up about it and leave me be!"

The tears were flowing rapidly now, and he almost opened the cage. He wanted to touch her, stroke her hair and tell it would be alright. And he hated himself for that. For still loving a good for nothing Kruat who didn't give a damn about him, or anything he stood for.

He stared at her as she covered her face with her hand, "why didn't you tell me? I could've protected you."

"I know."

"I wanted to marry you," he confessed.

"I know." This was true. She'd found the ring a few nights prior, and had begun questioning her role in all this mess very seriously. But it was too late to change anything.

He swallowed as she finally met his stare. "I love you, you know."

A quirk of a smile graced her trembling lips as she nodded. "I know."

"Would-would you have…?"

Viola sighed and shook her head, "no."

"Because you're a spy."

"Because you didn't deserve all this." She corrected. "Neither does Harling."

A quiet moment past over them, and her head snapped up at the clank of the cell doors.

"What're you doing?!" She whispered, standing quickly. Harsh, frantic hands hit his chest as she tried to force him out, "you'll be named a conspirator for this!"

"No, I won't."

His lips latched onto hers as he pushed her against the concrete wall. Panicked hands raked through his hair for the last time, a low moan trickling from her mouth as he deepened the kiss. Archie hands sought out her familiar curves, but was quick to pull away as a pained gasp broke their embrace. He gently moved her into the light, revealing the harsh bruises and welts littered on her sides.

"Oh, my…" He murmured, placing a light kiss on her forehead. His mind was made up, "come with me."

The woman held steady as he pulled on her arm. "I can't."

"Trust me."

Viola stared at him, amazed he could ask for that. "Archie, don't make this harder than it has to be."

"I'm not about to watch you die, Viola." His mind was made up. There was no backing down now, "If we wait any longer, it'll be too late."

"Too late for what?"

-

The docks were brimming with people, and the couple seemed completely out of place among the crowd.

"Archie, what're you doing here, lad?" The Irish brogue coming from behind them.

"Elias! Just he man I was looking for!" Hicox pumped his hand in a quick shake, "I need a favor."

"Name it."

"I need you to take her with you." He pushed the woman closer to the young man.

"W'at? You want me t'a take 'er to America? Why?" Elias quirked a quizzical brow as Viola looked up at the man.

"America?"

"You'll be safe there," Archie pushed a blonde lock from her face, "and if you stay with Elias, I'll be able to find you."

The young man looked between them, "I'm not sure-"

"Please," The lieutenant sighed, "just keep an eye on her, and everything will be fine."

"Alright, come on then, lassie, say yer good byes."

"I can't leave you here to take the fall for this!" She snapped, keeping her voice in a whisper.

"Yes you can, I'll be fine." He kissed her lips chastely, "just wait for me, alright?"

Her brown eyes took in his features a long moment. "Alright."

Elias took her hand gently, "we have to go, or we'll miss the boat."

Viola nodded mutely, and ignored the twinge of guilt she felt as she left her lover there. Like he was just another face in the crowd.

-

**1945**

Archie Hicox died in a basement, and Viola Fuchs never married.

A/N: Parts of this story make me very proud, but the end bugs me for some reason. Not the end line, just the departure scene for some reason…what ever. Next up is Donny. Or Utivich. Then Landa(he's really a wonderful character, but a total bitch to write)


	7. Donny's Gypsy Girl

Donny Donowitz

**1937**

He was staring again. He knew it, she knew it. Though, she didn't seem terribly bothered by it.

It was her hair colour. It was kind of distracting. Donny quirked a brow. What was that, blonde? Nah, too brown-y to be blonde. Had to be somethin' else.

Abby kept her eyes on the pages of her book as he casually sat next to her on the steps of her apartment building. _Her_ apartment building, he didn't even live here. He just hung around with one of the boys who did. Who always seemed to be running late, which always put her in these types of situations.

_Goddamn him_, the young woman swore, _goddamn him straight to-_

Her head jerked to the left and she stared at the man incredulously. "Did you just _pull my hair_?!"

"No!" Donny snapped, relenting a moment later, "Well, yeah, but-what the hell kinda hair colour is that anyway?!"

Wide blue eyes stared at him a long moment. Abernathy opened and closed her mouth a few seconds before answering. "It's my hair colour."

"What kinda answer's that?!" He laughed, watching her face blossomed from pale to pink. "What? They don't teach colours in gypsy school?"

Guarded hurt flickered in her eyes as she stood. She was used to this kind of ribbing, not just from this particular cretin, but most of the people she came in contact with on the busy streets of Boston.

_Gypsy_, she mused. _At least it's a step up from 'Kruat bitch'_.

"Where ya goin'?"

She didn't say anything as she made her way into the building. Back into the safety of her apartment.

"Everything alright, Abs?"

Abby smiled softly at her sister in law, in all her pregnant glory, as she sat at the kitchen table. It was kind of strange, just the three of them in such a big place. Her brother had assured her she'd get used to it, being away from her parents, staying in one place more than a few months…but so far it was proving difficult. Boring, even.

"Fine," the girl smiled softly, but her tone gave away more than she knew.

Concerned brown eyes followed Abby's willowy frame as she went into her bedroom. Levana had always thought she was a rather odd girl; spending more time in her head than out in the real world. The quietest among a family of loud eccentrics, Abby was basically the black sheep of the family.

Not an out right disgrace or anything, but kind of…secluded. No gypsy they'd ever known had _liked_ to be alone.

A sigh escaped the woman's throat, and she struggled to stand.

Abby didn't look up from her book as Levana came into her door way.

"Poe?"

"Dickson." The younger corrected, not tearing her eyes from the text.

"Charles or Emily?"

"Emily."

Levana fought back a groan, "want to come into town with me?"

There was a pause, and the young woman jumped off the bed. She glanced out her window, checking to see if the boy from earlier was still on her steps.

He was.

"No, thanks." Abby dropped her blue eyes to the carpet, "maybe next time."

"What's out there?" Levana demanded, crossing the room as quickly as her swollen belly would allow.

"Nanti." She said, running a hand through her hair. "I'm just tired, honest."

The woman eyed her with suspicion, but didn't question her about it. "Fine. I'll be back in an hour."

"Alright."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

-

A few days went by, and the young woman had all but forgotten their encounter.

"Hey pops," Donny nodded toward the barber shop's large picture window as Abby past, "what kinda hair colours that?"

"Probably her natural one." The man quipped, smirking at his son's displeasure, "I believe they call it tawny. Why?"

"Just wonderin'."

A doubting brow was cocked at him, but he ignored it as he went back to sweeping the floor.

-

Too absorbed in her book, Abernathy didn't noticed she was being stared at again. This time by an overly curious little girl who simply went by Sandy.

Sandy, if that was her real name, was completely entranced by the woman. Everything about her was just so…wonderfully weird.

She wore _pants_. Dark green pants, with a bright red sash wrapped around her hips, draping low to the knee. It had fancy swirls and it glittered when the sun hit it. Sandy thought it looked expansive. And if it was expansive then Abby probably stole it. At least that's what he mother said.

_It's just what gypsies do, Sand, they con and steal_. They were _dangerous_.

Supposedly. So far the most threatening thing this gypsy had done was bite her nails. Not very exciting to watch, so Sandy shuffled at little closer to get a better look at her.

Her hair was fancy, all twisted up at the back of her neck, that strange colour making a small, intricate knot. The child's brow furrowed as she leaned in a little closer.

"Your ear has a hole in it!" She gasped, jerking Abby from her thoughts.

The woman jumped back, "what're you doing?!"

"How'd it get like that?" Sandy asked, continuing to gawk at her.

Clear blue eyes narrowed at the little flattie. "What?"

"Your ear," the girl blushed, "it has a hole in it."

"It's pierced," Abby corrected, "so is my other one."

Closing her book, she tilted her head to show the girl the loop in her other ear, a blue bead hanging in it.

"My ma sews with those." Sandy said, nodding as though to confirm her statement.

"It's good luck to wear a blue bead."

The child tilted her head, skeptically, "In your ear?"

"In general."

"Why not both ears?"

Sandy inched closer to her still, and Abby cocked a brow at her. The kid had a large mane of black hair, curly and wild with a light touch of olive skin tone. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Make holes in your ears?"

Abby sighed, making further from her as she smiled gently at her. "Now, what's a nice, little rakli like you wanna know something like that?"

Big brown eyes blinked at her, "what?"

"It doesn't matter," Abby said, "you should be getting home. I'm sure your mother wouldn't like you hanging about with vagabonds."

"Vaga-whats?"

The woman stood, and patting the child on the head, she went back inside.

-

"Grandpa!"

A little girl shrieked somewhere inside the barber shop, causing both Donny and the older man to pause.

"Calm down, Sandy, what's wrong?" Ron asked, catching her as she threw herself around his legs. Peering down at his great niece he watched her face contort into one of annoyance.

"Is my grandpa here?"

Donny shook his head, sharing a look with his father. "Nope."

"Oh." The news seemed to deflate her joy somewhat and both felt a twinge of guilt as her shoulders slumped.

"Anythin' we can help ya with, doll?"

Sandy glanced at the young man, "I guess, maybe. Do you know where I can get a blue bead?"

Ron shrugged, "yer gran might have one, why?"

"They're good luck!" She chirped. "vagalawns carry them."

"What?"

"Vagalawns."

Again the men shared a look. Donny shook his head, "what's a vagalwn?"

"You know," Sandy rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "a gypsy. That's what they call themselves, vagalawns."

"Ya ain't 'posed ta be hangin' 'round them, San!" The young man snapped, going back to sweeping as he remembered the disgusted look the woman had given him.

"He's right." Ron said, "You shouldn't be."

"But it was just one of 'em!"

"There's never just one of them." The older man stated.

Sandy sighed, "She was jus' readin' anyway." She blinked at him, "can I get my ears pierced?"

"What?"

"Can I-"

"I heard what ya said!" Donny ground his teeth, "no, ya ain't gettin' yer ears pierced, only whores get their ears pierced."

"Oh." A faint blush rose on her face at the swear, but she dropped the subject as she toed the ground.

Ron glanced at his son, "That's a little harsh, Don."

"It's true." He said quietly, going back to sweeping as his father shot him a queer look. "Where'd you see this…vagalawn?"

"At her house."

"You went to her house?

Sandy shook her head, "well, no, not really, she was on her steps."

Donny muttered something under his breathe, and Ron looked at him right out. "You know this girl?"

"Kinda. She lives in Cooper's building."

"She on the level?" He asked.

"I guess, she seems alright, a little touchy, but okay."

"Well," Ron rested his hands on the girl's tiny shoulders, "I'd stay away just in case."

-

The Red Sox fan assumed this didn't apply to him, and found himself waiting on her steps the very next day.

"Hey." A lanky blond man quirked a brow as he came down them, "we 'sposed ta play ball today?"

"Nah, waitin' on someone."

"Who?"

"Not sure yet."

-

Abby didn't go out that day, or the next. If Donny didn't know better, he'd swear she knew he was down there –and avoiding him. Not that he cared if he ever saw the little vagrant, but he was a bit concerned when he noticed his little cousin walking around with a bead on a string around her neck.

He had to set the bitch straight-she wasn't gonna be talking to Sandy, or any other of his kin.

_Finally_, he smirked jogging up the road as he saw her come out of the building, followed closely by a pregnant woman. He froze at the sound of their voices, ducting behind a stoop to eavesdrop.

"Honestly, Abs, one day out of the house won't kill you, you know." Levana chided, accepting the helping hand down the stairs from the younger woman.

"I know," she said, her tone light and just barely audible from Donny position.

The dark hair woman brushed some of her hair back, keeping Abby's arm locked around hers, "you don't have to be so nervous about everything."

"I'm not, I just…didn't want to be bothered."

"Bothered?" Her sister-in-law tightened her grip on her arm, "by who?"

"Nobody."

Donny winced, unsure why she was protecting him. He had harassed her before, on more than just the one occasion. It was almost a hobby, one he wasn't very proud of.

"You sure?"

Tawny hair nodded, "I'm just not used to so many jossers."

"Oh." Levana nodded sympathetically, "you'll get used to it."

"I guess I'll have to."

"Have you seen His Gills lately?"

A shrug, "which one?"

"The one that likes to deko you."

"Oh. Well, yeah he's been around a lot lately."

A chuckle was heard, unfamiliar and rich, "want me to sick Sid on him?"

"No." Her voice was dry and sweet, and the young man leaned in a little closer to hear it. She'd never talked this much before…even if he didn't understand half of what they were talking about. He didn't bother following them as they walked off, instead taking his place on the steps. _Let see 'er try an' avoid me now_.

A few hours past before they came back. Abby stalled at the sight of him, and Levana smirked. "Want me to scare him off?"

"No, that's alright."

Donny nodded to them as the younger helped her sister in law up the stairs. "Hey."

The women shared a look but didn't acknowledge him. Going inside, Abby helped her up the stairs, and into the apartment before going back outside. She didn't move from her place in the door way as she spoke.

"What is it?"

"You been talkin' ta Sandy."

She tilted her head, "Sandy?"

"Little girl, 'bout seven?" He wasn't looking at her, not taking his eyes off the street as he spoke.

"Yes, I remember."

"She keeps carryin' around a blue bead, wants to get 'er ears pierced. You know anythin' about that?"

"Yes." Abby admitted, never being one to out right lie, "she was a rather curious child, I indulged her."

"Says she wants to be a vagalawn."

She blinked, "a what?"

"You know, like a gypsy."

"You mean vaga_bond_, and not all vagabonds are gypsies." Her eyes rolled and she leaned against the door, "why are you here, gadje?"

"See, that right there," Donny turned, looking at her pale face in the light of the street lamps, "that's why I'm here."

"Because your little girl likes to hang around vagrants, that's my problem?" She asked, lifting a brow as she remained only slightly intimidated by his size.

"First off, she ain't my kid, she's my cousin." He licked his lips as he leaned against the rail of the steps, "and, no, that ain't yer problem."

This lightening suited him, casting an odd glow over his dark features that the young man appreciated. She may have been weary of him, but that didn't make her blind.

"Than why are you here?"

"I," Swallowing his eyes flickered from her face to her skirt, the red sash wrapped around it sparkling in the dim light, "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"Pullin' yer hair," god he hadn't said that since the fourth grade, but when an amused smile trickled over her lips, he didn't mind so much. "So, gypsy girl…got a name?"

"Abernathy."

"What's your first name?"

She smirked, "That is my first name."

"Oh." He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly.

"Most people just call me Abby."

"Abby," He repeated, smiling slightly. He stuck his hand out, "Donny Donowitz."

Her small hand grasped his forearm, firmly. It was a foreign greeting to him, but he didn't question it.

"You an' yer sister, you always talk like that?"

"It's Romani slang, and yes, we do." Her hand slipped from his arm, and she took a seat on the steps. "Do you always talk like _that_?"

"Like what?"

She laughed; a high, subtle sound. Like a bell.

**1938**

As usual, she was on her steps. A small bundle rest on her arm, secure and peaceful as she rocked it gently.

"He's so tiny!" Sandy cooed, peering over at the infant as Abby nodded.

"He is tawni, but he will grow."

The girl lifted a brow, "I thought tawny was a hair colour."

"Same sound different meaning, rakli. It's a homophone." She explained, making quiet _tut_ noises at the baby as it fussed. It settled quickly.

"Are you gonna have any kids?"

"Maybe, someday." _If my brother ever takes the time to find me a husband_, Abby added, but didn't say that out loud. It would just lead to more uncomfortable questions-

"With my Uncle Donny?"

She stared at the child, horrified. A prompt head shake. "No."

"Aw, why not?"

"Because your uncle is a whore."

"Really?!" Sandy grinned, "Then you could match!"

"Excuse me?" Abby stopped rocking the baby a moment, to bite her tongue.

Brown eyes blinked at her, "well, you have your ears pierced."

"So? Lots of people have their ears pierced."

"Yeah, _whores_, at least that's what Uncle Donny said."

The woman felt a pang in her heart, but said nothing of it.

-

Sid knew Levana was struggling.

Typically, when there was a birth it was something to be celebrated by the family- the whole family. All would take part in raising the child, share all its joys and heartache.

Sighing, he looked at Abby as he sat on the step. "How is he?"

"Fine." Her brother took the infant from her with minor fuss. "How's Lev?"

"Homesick." Sid admitted, "It's odd. She was fine for so long…I think she needs to be with the family, Abs."

"Oh." She crossed her legs, "should I go pack?"

"Probably. Not right away, maybe she'll be better in a few days." He adjusted the baby, "Do you want me to start looking for a husband, so you can stay here?"

Donny imaged came to mind, as did his Sandy's words. No, she and Donny were friends, and hardly that.

"No. I'll go with you."

Sid beamed at her, "thanks."

She returned the smile weakly and gently caressed his son's face. Abby wasn't foolish. She knew they would need her on the trip back to Europe.

She also knew she wouldn't be happy back there.

-

Abby didn't look at him as he approached her.

"Hey."

"So, are all gypsies whores or just me?"

"What?"

"Yeah, apparently anyone with an earring is a whore." Her blue eyes stuck him to his spot on the street, "so? Is it all of us, or just me?"

"Abs, I said that months ago, I barely knew ya then." Donny shook his head, "ya know I don't think that."

"But you said it. To Sandy."

"Yeah, so? It's not like I said it to you or nothin'."

"No!" She spat, glaring at him, "you said it to a child! That's so much worse, Donny!"

"Why cause I told 'er not ta get 'er ears pierced?!"

"No because you humiliated my people to do it!"

He scoffed, "ain't like you like bein' one!"

"A whore?"

"A gypsy, god, all you ever do is read and bitch."

The woman stared at him. "I may not be very vocal about it, or fit into your little stereo type, _Donowitz_, but I am very proud of my heritage."

"'sthat so?" He asked, "Then why the hell'd you move ta America then? You like yer family so much?"

"Germany isn't safe anymore." Abby dropped his eyes, "for any of us."

"What? They tease you a bit so you run off ta-"

"We're put in the same camps you are, _kike_, so don't you dare go running your mouth off to me."

There was a beat of silence before she went into the building, and Donny tried to push the unsettling feeling in his stomach away.

-

"Hey Donowitz, I hear yer girlfriend's movin'."

Donny glanced at Cooper, "What?"

"Abby, her and Sid've been packin' all night." The young man blinked at him. "You didn't know?"

"Goddamn it." He murmured, "tell my dad I'll make up my shift, 'kay?"

"Sure."

-

"What the fuck, Abernathy?"

The three looked at him and Sid looked at his sister, "you know this gadje?"

"Yeah," Abby scratched the back of her neck, "I do."

"Yer leavin'?! just like that?" Donny snapped, "were you even gonna tell me?"

"No, it's none of your business what I do." She put her hand on her brother's arm as he approached the man. "Give us a minute?"

He gave his little sister a stern look, but nodded, ushering Levana back inside.

"What'd ya mean its none'a my business? I thought we were friends!"

"I'm better friends with Sandy than you!" She snapped, "I hardly know you! You're just some outsider who thinks he knows better then me!"

"You told 'er right? That you were leavin'?"

A sigh came from her thin lips, "she came by earlier and I explained."

"This'll break 'er heart, Abs." His voice was pleading, and he tried to play off his sadness.

"Her heart?" The young woman cocked a brow, "Or yours?"

They stared at each other a long moment, but he didn't admit it. How he felt, how much he wanted her to stay. And she didn't tell him how badly she needed to hear it.

-

**1941**

"Everyday thousands of Jews, Negros, Gypsies and homosexuals are being put into labor camps run by the Nazi Party in hopes to procure a '_perfect Aryan race'_, such genocides are not-"

"Shut that shit off will ya?" Donny drawled, staring out the window as Aldo drove.

The Lieutenant did as asked, cocking a brow, "everythin' alright, son?"

"Fine."

"Don't bull shit me, boy, what's wrong?"

He blinked slowly, "I think a friend of mine might be dead."

Aldo quirked a brow, "Alright."

"She was a gypsy, moved back to Europe a while ago. I don't know what happened to 'er."

"You love 'er?"

"I don't know. Maybe." The Bear Jew sighed.

The older man didn't saying anything, fearing he may upset the boy.

The pair drove on in silence, neither to bring up the topic again.

Donny dwelled on the subject a long time, before finally convincing himself she was fine, probably married with a litter of little tawny haired bastards.

But she wasn't.

His instinct had been right, and Abby died in a slave labor camp in the winter of 1942.

_A/N:_

Alright, this didn't turn out how I expected it to…Sandy played a bigger role than I expected her to. Also while we're on topic, I did go off some internet sites for certain parts of the 'gypsy' thing, but a lot of did came from remembering an actual family of gypsies I knew when I lived in a trailer park. I haven't spoken to them in like, years, but I remember certain things and slipped them in(the bead thing is a prime example). And yes-Abernathy is the name from Death Proof. Totally inspired the name scene. Oh, and I've decided to do another of these series, called Cell Block Tango(yes it is from Chicago), which will for sure have at least Omar and Hirschberg in it.

Definitions:

Tawni-small

Gadje-someone who is not a gypsy, an unwelcomed outsider

Josser- Non-gypsy

Flattie- see josser

Rakli- young girl

His Gills- slang equivalent to 'whatishisname'

Deko- (to) look at

Nanti- nothing


	8. Utivich's Strange Fruit

Smithson Utivich

**1945**

"So," Utivich glanced at the lieutenant's daughter as she spoke, "you're a Jew, huh?"

He nodded, slightly awkward, "yep."

"I never met a Jewish fellah before."

Aldo chuckled from his seat, earning a swat on the arm from his wife. "Clare, show some tact, will ya?"

"Sorry," The young woman flushed, the red contrasting with her soft brown skin tone. She turned away from the three as she went back to baking, not noticing the private's eyes on her.

He was trying to be subtle. He wasn't doing a very good job of it, because the older male picked up on it right away.

"So, Utivich, what's goin' on with yer folks? They still mad at 'cha?"

"Yeah," He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Why?" Lydia asked, quirking a brow as she stirred her tea.

"Enlisted," Aldo answered for him, "not too impressed with that."

They shared a look, and he placed his hand over hers.

Sensing an opportunity, Smithson took another peek at Clare.

She didn't look anything like her parents, with skin a light coffee brown, darker than Aldo's, but lighter than Lydia's. She had her mother's eyes though, warm and brown.

"He ain't listenin' ta a thing we say, is he?"

The mother shook her head, "nope."

"Mhm." Aldo gave a noise of disapproval, but that didn't stop the smirk from coming to his lips. He tapped the table with his knuckles, rousing the young man from his thoughts. "Why don't Clare show ya 'round a bit? Let you two get ta know each other?"

"Al'right," Clare said, closing the oven as she brushed her hands on her apron, "'S long as ya don't mind waitin' fer me ta change."

Utivich nodded, "Of course, no problem."

Lydia brought her cup to her lips, hiding her smile as her daughter scampered up the stairs. Aldo hung his arm over the back of her chair, "you like it here, boy?"

"Um, I guess." He cleared his throat, "I haven't seen much yet."

A flicker of doubt went though the man's eyes, and he opened his mouth, "how much do ya expect ta see?"

"Well, the town, I guess, why?"

The woman snickered at his innocence. "I'll go see what's taking-"

"No need," Her daughter cut in, smiling as she brushed some of her thick curls back.

Smithson stood, and offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

-

The town wasn't very big, and she was able to show him most of it in the course of an hour.

"What about that one?" he asked, pointing to a diner.

She shook her head, "can't. We're not allowed in there."

Utivich quirked a brow, "why not?"

Clare tilted her head, a surprised laugh choking her. "You're kidding right?"

"What?" he asked, watching as a concerned mask came across her features.

"It's got a flag in the window," She said, "it's not safe."

He stared at her a moment, taking in her quiet panic before nodding. "Okay. Where to then?"  
"Why don't we show you two to the river?"

The woman froze at the sound of the voice, her eyes narrowing as she turned. Locking eyes with the young man in front of her she jerked her head, "mind yer business, Mister Quinn."

"Shut yer mouth, mutt. I wasn't talkin' to you."

Smithson took her hand, "let's get out of here, Clare."

The man's brown eyes shone as he smirked, "better listen to yer man, bitch."

The private tensed, and this time it was her pulling him.

-

"Hey," Aldo smiled as they entered his home, "yer back earlier than expected."

"Hi, daddy." Clare smiled sadly at him, "where's ma?"

The young man's eyes went to hers, and she dropped them to the floor.

"Sleepin', thought I'd see how yer tour went."

"Fine."

"Good." The Lieutenant nodded, still smiling he met his soldier's eyes, "so, Utivich what'd ya think'a the town?"

"It's…_different_ than what I'm used to." He fumbled as he thought over his word, not trying to hide his displeasure like Clare was.

"Can talk to you?" She snapped, motioning behind her, "in the back?"

He followed her to the back porch. The sun was setting in the background, but he paid it no mind as she set her eyes on him. "Don't tell him what happened."

"Why the hell not, Clare, you can't have-"

"I just got him back," She whispered, her hand going to a small cross that hung around her neck, "I don't want him gettin'…"

Blue eyes blinked at her, and Smithson put a hand on her shoulder, "Nothing's gonna happen to your dad, alright? But you can't let people push you around."

She shook her head, "It's not the same."

"What?"

"Look," Clare pulled away from his touch, "I don't know how y'all do it up north, but down here its jus' different, alright?"

"Well, lying about it ain't gonna change anything," He said. Listening to her sigh, the young man cupped her chin. Smiling slightly, he relented as he took in the soft curve of her cheeks in the fading light. "I won't tell him."

Her smile was light, and she gently leaned into his touch, "thank you."

-

A few weeks past, and Clare found herself slowly becoming infatuated with the young Jewish man. He was very soft spoken, something she wasn't used to, mannerly, and generally all around polite.

The affection was hardly one-sided, with Smithson spending more and more time with her. As much time as possible.

He knew he'd have to go home eventually. He was just…putting it off for a bit.

Watching her back, he sighed quietly as she continued to roll out the pastry dough.

"Everythin' al'right, darlin'?"

"Pardon?"

She turned, smiling, to face him, "ya seem kinda…down, I guess."

"Oh." His gaze shifted to meet her eyes, wide and caring, and he swallowed out of nervous reflex. "I…"

She blinked.

"I…I was just thinking." He finished lamely watching her hair fall to the side as she tilted her head.

"And you're sure nothin' wrong?"

Utivich nodded, "I'm sure." Brown eyes set on him disapprovingly, and he knew she thought he was lying. "Honest."

"Al'right."

He stirred his coffee half heartedly as she went back to her pie. "Hey, Clare?"

"Mhm?"

"Why aren't you married?"

She chuckled, "what'd ya mean?"

He was behind her before she realized it, "I mean, _why aren't you married_?"

Clare spun to face him, a weary glare on her face, "because I'm jus' not."

"But-"

"Look, Utivich, not everybody is as open as you are to my parents, okay?" She ignored his hurt stare as she went on, "ain't nobody want a _mutt_ for a wife."

The young woman crumbled under his stare, and she looked away from him. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Smithson muttered, "It's their loss."

A red blush settled on her cheeks as he brushed some of her black hair back. His lips captured hers softly, his hand moving down to caress her neck gently as she leaned into him. Moaning, she let him probe her mouth as he rested his unoccupied hand on her hip. Fisting the material of her yellow house dress, Smithson pulled away slightly to peer down at her, meeting her half lidded gaze.

"We shouldn't have done that." Clare murmured.

"Yeah."

Her hands tangled in his hair as she pulled him down for another kiss. Not a moment of hesitation past as Utivich lifted her to the counter, his hands going swiftly under her dress as she pushed his suspenders off. His fingers brushed the soft material of her panties and he paused when she stiffened.

"Everything alright?"

Clare nodded, moving her plump lips from his mouth to his neck. Nipping it tenderly, she lifted her hips so he could pull her underwear down. It was halfway down her thighs when the front door opened.

They jumped apart, and the young woman shoved the skirt of her dress down as her…friend, threw the suspenders over his shoulders.

"Hey" Lydia grinned, though it faded slightly as she took in her daughter's appearance. Her eyes flickered from Clare, skirt ruffled and red faced, to Utivich, hair tousled and guilty, "why're you on the counter?"

"Uh…" Clare stuttered a second, "I saw a mouse."

The older woman rolled her eyes, "sure you did. By the way, this came for you."

She set an envelope on the kitchen table in front of Smithson. He ripped it open, not making eye contact with the woman as she smirked at him.

"Clare, sweetheart can I talk to ya, outside?"

Nodding, the young woman followed her with a flushed face. They sat on the back porch a moment before Lydia spoke.

"Now, Clare, I know you're attached to this boy-"

"Oh, god, ma, this ain't gonna be another one'a those _yer virginity is a pie_, speeches is it?!"

Lydia leveled her eyes at her, "_no_. Although…"

"Please, don't." Clare begged.

Her mother relented, "I just want you to be careful…I know you ain't never had a boyfriend before, I just don't want you to rush inta anythin'."

"I know." She looked down at her hands, "I really like 'im."

"I know." Lydia patted her hand, "he's a nice boy."

"That son of a bitch," Smithson muttered, glaring at the letter in his hands. He groaned as he dropped his head to the table. Of course, he had to see him now, when he was finally getting some where with the lieutenant's daughter.

"Everythin' alright, son?"

Utivich glanced at the man, "no. My father wants me to come home. Meet some girls or somethin'."

"Oh." Aldo blinked, not very pleased with the news. He'd assumed…well, that didn't matter now. "When's he want ya back?"

"_I expect you home by Tuesday_," Smithson dictated, tearing the letter up as he sighed. "Maybe I could just go down there and…"

"An' what?"

"Tell him how I feel about Clare." He met the older man's stare head on, and waited for the scalping. It didn't come, only a smirk and a head shake.

"I figured she was what was keepin' ya here."

Smithson smiled, glad he wasn't upset. "Then maybe I could come back and marry her?"

Aldo crossed his arms, not overly pleased with the idea of his only daughter getting married. Mind you, if he had to pick someone to marry her, Utivich was probably the first man that came to mind.

"I guess that'd be alright, if she agrees, of course."

-

"Marry you?"

"Yeah, I mean, I could move down here, we could get a place of our own…"

"Al'right."

She smiled as he grinned at her, "really?"

"Of course."

-

His father was not impressed. "Well, who is this girl? What do you know about her? Her family?"

"Her name's Clare Raine, she's my lieutenant's daughter." Smithson wanted to smirk as his father face contorted further into one of disgust.

"I thought he was married to a Negro."

"He is."

"That would mean she's-"

His son nodded, firmly, "yeah, she is."

"Hm. Well, you know I couldn't support that kind of decision, Smithy." Joseph shook his head, "and I won't financially."

"Fine, I'll use my benefits." He glanced at his mother, who quickly moved her gaze from his.

"It's up to you, but we won't be attending the ceremony. You understand, appearances to keep, and what not."

Utivich nodded, "I understand perfectly."

"Maybe you could spend the weekend?" His mother asked, speaking for the first time since he'd arrived, "think it over? Plan a little?"

He smiled lightly at her, sneaking a glance at his father, "I guess, if I'm welcome, you could help me pick out a ring…"

A snort came from the man but he didn't say anything as his wife's face lit up.

-

Back in Tennessee, word had spread about the young woman's upcoming nuptials.

"We'll need'a Rabbi," Aldo mused, jotting some thing down on a scrap of paper as the officer at the marriage registry raised a brow.

"A Rabbi? Yer lettin' yer daughter marry a Jew?"

"Sure," The military man looked at him suspiciously, putting his arm around Clare, "why not?"

The man shook his head, a sneer changing his once pleasant smile into a scowl. "Next you'll be lettin' coloureds-"

"What about _coloureds_?" Aldo snapped leaning in menacingly. "You better watch what you say 'round my daughter, you got that, pal?"

The look of disgust past over to the young woman who flinched back.

"Get out."

They didn't need to be told twice.

"God, Clare, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be. It's not your fault." She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. "Ya think, maybe this is a bad idea?"

Aldo shook his head, "no. It'll be hard, but it's worth it, darlin'. Just look at me and yer ma, we turned out alright, di'n't we?"

The young woman smiled, her confidence restored. "Yeah."

-

She pushed some of her hair back as she paced, eying the darkening sky with worry.

His train was late.

She sat on the bench a moment. Nope, no good. She went back to pacing.

God, why did the tracks have to be so close to the river? Her teeth latched onto her bottom lip as she finally heard the whistle.

"Everythin' alright, Miss Raine?"

Clare froze at the hauntingly familiar voice.

"Hear you got yerself engaged to that little Christ Killer, that true?" Calvin Quinn casually leaned against the pole she was next to, "damn, what is it with those Raines? They seem t'a attract the dirtiest fucks, don't they, Rich?"

His brother chuckled as he leaned against the pole to her left, "Some things never change."

"No…" Cal smirked as the train stopped, "they really don't."

Clare closed her eyes to block out the panic, but it did nothing as she heard him carry on faintly.

"Guess we'll finally get ta introduce ya ta that river tonight…"

A few more chuckles were heard, and she didn't bother to fight the fear as she opened her eyes. She noticed the law clerk out of the corner of her eye, and squared her shoulders defiantly.

"Now don't go tryin' ta act all-"

"Clare!"

Utivich grinned at her as he made his way over to her. She shook her head subtly but he ignored it as he recognized the man to her right. Kissing her soundly on the lips, he ignored his bags as he took her hand. "Ready to go?"  
"I think we are." It was Cal who had answered, smirking as the men crowded closer to the pair.

She squeezed his hand as she struggled to keep from crying. He squeezed it back as the man caught the shoulder of his jacket.

Ripping their hands apart, the Quinn brothers led them to the river.

-

The crosses were lit and standing high when they arrived, the man bloodied and beaten as the woman cried. Helpless, as the shine from the river mocked them, as it the sky as thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

A rough hand gripped his neck as he was forced to look at her. They were in front of it all, like actors in a sadistic play as the man next to him spoke.

"She look any different now that she's been fucked by some real men, Christ Killer?"

Smithson stared into her blood shot eyes, her lips quivering as she sobbed, "She's beautiful."

"Lame fuck though," Cal chuckled, his hand slipping from his neck to tangle in the man's hair. He jerked it back, ignoring the shrill screams of the woman.

"Let him go, he didn-"

"Someone shut that little whore up!" he snapped, glaring as he pulled Smithson to the noose. A yelp was heard, but the crying didn't stop.

"_Please! Don't do this!_" Clare screeched, twisting in Richie grasp as he held her head straight, forcing her watch.

Utivich stared at the noose in front of him, eyes widening as he saw the one next to it. He locked eyes with Cal as his stomach turned. "Don't, not her."'

"Oh, really?" The older man chuckled, listening to the cheers of the crowd as she continued to call out for her fiancé. "Why in the hell should we let the little mulatto go?"

"She's a woman," He murmured, "She doesn't deserve this."

His right eye was almost swollen shut as some of the blood from his mouth hit the roots of the tree. The scent of magnolia was heavy in his stinging nose, and he tried to block out the sight of Clare as Quinn slapped her.

Cal stared at him, "she's a mutt, not a person." He smirked at the young man, "and you ain't in no position to be makin' requests, Heeb."

"Please," Clare whispered, feebly trying to pry Richie's hands from her waist, "please don't."

Tears slipped from her eyes as she locked eyes with Smithson, the noose hung around his neck she muttered it. "_I love you_."

He smiled, just a tad, as his feet were kicked out from under him. Clare gasped, retching her eyes from the sight as a sickening snap filled the air, followed quickly by cheers.

A raindrop hit her cheek, but it was hardly noticed as Cal grabbed her arm.

"This is all yer daddy's fault," He said, smiling as he looked into her face. "And I'm gonna have a good time tellin' 'im how you cried like a little bitch when I fucked ya, Miss Raine."

"Go ta hell." She snarled, her head high as he pulled her towards her lover's body.

"That's no way ta talk." He didn't contain his smirk.

Her guard fell as she looked at Utivich body, head twisted at a horrible angle, with his blue eyes wide. Cal shoved her, twisting the noose around her neck.

She stared out into the crowd as another drop hit her neck, soothing the burning skin.

Her eyes closed, and her last breath hitched as she dropped.

-

The rain began to pour moments later, and by dawn every cross was extinguished.

A/N: That one was hard to write, understandably…originally I was going to give them a happy ending, but I just couldn't. This was inspired by the song Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday.


	9. Landa's Control

Hans Landa

**1939**

He glanced at the woman in front of him with mild interest. She was nothing spectacular, with an average resume and an even blander personality.

But there was some thing…enticing about her. Something slightly off, something subtle he couldn't put his finger on.

"Very well, Fraulein Lefevre, that's a French name, is it not?" Hans gave her a pointed look that she met with almost a daring boldness.

"It is."

"I was originally going to go with a German housekeeper," He gave a mocking shrug, as he gestured at her with an open hand, "but I suppose you will do."

The woman didn't seem put off by his dismissal of her abilities; in fact, he could almost detect a hint of a smirk twitching in her lips. "Merci, Colonel."

And thus 'Cordelia Lefevre' came to work for him.

-

Hans watched her from his desk, not bothering to hide his stare. If she was aware of it, she didn't protest.

The ledger in front of him fell open to the desired page, and absentmindedly he jotted down; _corset_, under her name.

It was hardly noticeable, nothing more than he would expect from the reclusive maid, a thin line above her bust. But the idea of the garment itself seemed out of place of the woman's lanky frame. Quirking a brow, he watched her go about her business, polishing furniture in the room across from his office with a determined gusto that pleased him more than it reasonably should have.

She was aware of it to, and she made it a point not to slow her actions and to keep her back to him. Those cold blue eyes were studying her like a rat trapped in a cage; which in a morbid way she was, if German propaganda was true.

He had to know. He _had_ to. Leah wiped down a vase with a damp rag as she strived to keep her breath even. The Jew Hunter would know if a Jew was loitering in his den.

But he didn't, at least, not yet anyway.

**1941 **

Livid. Absolutely livid, well, that's what she expected, but that's not what she got.

"Stop fussing over it, Fraulein," He put his hand on her back, tracing the line of her corset subtly, "it was an accident."

She continued to pick up the remnants of the glass with heated precision, "I should have been more careful."

"Fraulein Lefevre." His fingers drifted up the grey material of her uniform and she froze as he brushed them against her neck, "if you would just calm down we could get this over with much less…tension." Landa's thumb slipped under the cloth, rubbing her collarbone with sinful intention.

A shudder went through her, and she prayed he mistook it for lust rather than revulsion.

He took it as neither, and removed his hand from her. "It wasn't my motative to frighten you, simply an attempt at comfort."

Hans met her eyes, refusing to drop her stare as her dark brown eyes sparkled with something. Fear? Malice? Perhaps a tad of both. But it was obvious he had overstepped his boundaries as an employer.

"Tell me, Fraulein Lefevre, you've been in my services, how long?"

"Almost three years, Colonel," Her reply was stiff, her voice rich-always richer than he expected from such a quiet woman- as she went back to placing the shards of glass in her apron.

"Thirty two months, actually."

_Anal retentive bastard_, Leah thought, her fingers shaking around a particularly long piece of jagged glass. It'd be so easy, one quick sharp jab to the-

"And in all this time you have yet to tell me a single personal thing about yourself." Hans blinked down at her, his face a calculating shield of curiosity.

Those dark brown eyes bore into his with little regard for social standings, "what would you like to know?"

"Where were you born?"

"Nantes."

"Really?" He smirked, "You're accent hints to more of a Northern upbringing."

It was her turn to smirk as she tilted her head, eyes glittering, "you asked me where I was born, Colonel, not where I was raised."

"I suppose you're right," He said, not particularly enjoying the way she had twisted his words. Landa fought the urge to make her eat her them. Throwing her up against his desk and fucking her until that infernal braid became loose would do the trick.

But that wouldn't be very gentlemanly. Besides, there was work to be done.

"We'll have to continue this conversation another day, Fraulein Lefevre," He glanced at his wrist watch, "I'm afraid I have a meeting to attend."

"Of course, sir."

-

This had to be wrong. Some mistake made by the silly baker in an attempt to get himself out of a more severe punishment.

But there is was, scribbled almost illegibly, but crystal clear to the German superior.

Under aliases to the right, _Cordelia Lefevre_. His blue eyes darted to the left.

_Leah Shaye_. Hebrew, if he was correct.

_That filthy little liar_, Hans almost grinned. This would require a serious punishment.

-

"Something I can help you with, sir?"

He shook his head nonchalantly, "no, continue with your task, _Cordelia_."

Quirking a brow, she went back to dusting his bookshelf. She ignored him when he came up behind her, just uncomfortably close enough to pause her hand.

"So, _Cordelia_, ready to finish that conversation we had earlier?"

"Yes, sir." She resumed her dusting, ignoring the lewd warmth as his breathe hit her neck. She may have hated the man, but that didn't mean she was impassive to his physical attractiveness. It would've made her life all too simple if she was.

Landa moved a little closer to her, raising his fingers to stroke the bottom of her long, dark braid. "Tell me, is Cordelia a family name? Is that why you chose it?"

"Chose it?" The woman echoed, her tone a line of apathetic calm. "One doesn't choose their own name."

"People in hiding do. Desperate people." He looped the braid around his palm, "you covered your tracks quite well, Fraulein Shaye. Too bad the man you bought your identity from didn't have an ounce of loyalty in him. I may never have caught you if it weren't for that silly baker."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"You wish to play naive? Very well." Hans pulled the offending woven strands, tightening his grip as he forced her hips into the wooden shelf. He ground into her, "You've been deceiving me."

"No-" She ground her teeth. This wasn't happening.

"Don't lie to me, _Leah_, it's unbecoming for a lady to lie. Even if it is a filthy Jewish one."

Not sure what he had been expecting, Landa knew it certainly wasn't a snicker.

"Find something amusing in all over this, do you?" Her hips stung as he hovered over her, the duster in her hand becoming locked in a vice grip as he went on, "how easily I was fooled perhaps?"

"No."

"Than what?" One of his hands snaked up her arm, and he jerked her shoulder back. Hans eyed the pale skin of her neck with a smirk, "tell me."

"Funny, you should be so intent to _touch_-" She gasped as Landa nipped her earlobe, "me after pointing out how filthy I am, _Hans_."

Leah spat his name out, annoyed with her inability to move. Annoyed with herself for not wanting to.

"I like to get a feel for impurities before I cleanse them." He tightened his grip on her hair, "you know what they do when women deceive men in Italy? When they disgrace themselves?"  
She said nothing, wincing as she heard a familiar sound. He was getting his knife out.

Her jaw clenched as he brought it up to her neck. It lingered there a moment as he spoke, low in her ear. "You could've killed me at any time." He pressed the knife against her carotid artery, but curiosity was a powerful thing. At least in Landa's case, "why didn't you?"

Leah closed her eyes, regaining her composure as she spoke. In monotone, as always, "would've roused suspicion."

"Suspicion?" A tiniest bit more pressure, and she swallowed.

"A high ranking officer dies," she muttered, ignoring the feeling of his hand as it drew her head back, "they're bound to look into it."

"Are you saying it had nothing to do with your ethical standpoint?" He smirked, "maybe even feelings for me?"

"The only feeling I have for you is disgust, _Hans_, that I can assure you."

Her head was forced back on his shoulder and she could feel him chuckle before the sound itself registered. "So it was simple cowardice that keep my life in tact?"

"I like to think of it as self preservation." Leah gasped as she felt the knife lower. His hand braced her shoulder, still clutching the blade, turning her to face the bookcase completely.

"If I were to let you go…"

He thumbed the braid a moment before raising the knife to it. The woman jerked forward as he slice through her thick hair, tugging painfully at her scalp. Soon enough it was over, and he ruffled her remaining locks almost tenderly as he spoke. "Would you hesitate to kill me?"

"No." She closed her eyes, trying to get the pain at the base of her neck to calm, "not for a moment."

Hans smirked at her serious tone, knowing this game all too well. "You suppose your honesty is going to invoke some leniency on my part," He turned her to face him with surprising, and frustrating, easiness. Almost gently. Almost, "but it won't. In fact it makes me all the more anxious to let you out of my sight, Fraulein Shaye."

"But that doesn't mean I have any intention of getting rid of you so soon, Leah."

The man turned her to face him, taking the duster from her tight grasp. He tossed to the floor with arrogant flare as she glared up at him. "Not while there's so much fun to be had."

Brown eyes fixed on him with an almost predatory gaze; much like the one Landa was giving her. "What are you going to do to me?" She asked, weighing her options. He was bigger than her. Stronger.

At least if the grip on her wrist was any indication.

The German took in her appearance, tilting his head slightly to the side. She was about his height, maybe a centimeter or two shorter. Pale skin, smooth and white as the sweetest buttermilk. Ignoring the urge to touch it, or ravish it, he smirked.

What was he going to do to her?

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," Hans licked his lips as he leered down at her, "now, tell me, _Leah_, how long have you been wearing a corset?" A red stain came over her cheeks, electing a chuckle from him as he took in her surprised features. "You aren't as good at hiding as you think you are," He muttered taking her narrow hips in his hands, he held them still as she bucked away, "now answer the question."

His blue eyes clamped shut as she spit in his face.

"Fuck you, sir." She growled, jerking in his hold.

"Unwise, Shaye." He wiped it away with the back of his hand, easily keeping her pinned singlehandedly, "very unwise."

-

There was only one room in the house Leah had never been in. the man had claimed it was due to privacy, it was his bedroom after all, and she'd obliged his wishes. No matter how tempted she had been to sneak in there and smother him with a pillow.

It was a large room with two long vertical windows covered by silk curtains and a bed that took up a large portion of the room. Though, she was too preoccupied with being handcuffed to really take in the décor.

Her shoulders twitched uncomfortably as he tightened them.

"Comfy?" Hans' tone was sadistically playful, and Leah kept quiet. Knowing there was really no point in fighting it, in screaming and fleeing because with a snap of his fingers, he could have a brigade of Nazis.

And she'd rather deal with one sociopath than several.

One charming, frustrating, slightly flamboyant, overly imagainative-

"Am I boring you Fraulein Shaye?" Landa's eyes glittered with impassive annoyance.

"Of course not, Hans." Her tone was equally as teasing, a familiar edge to it, "I could listen to you drone on all day long."

"If you're listening so intently, why aren't you on your knees, _Leah_?"

The Jewish woman's eyes widened as she bared her teeth, a feral expression that amused him. Inwardly, of course. "If you think you're getting your cock sucked by me, I'll have you know I'll bite it off."

"If I wanted my cock sucked, I'll have someone properly equipped do it," He eyed her lips, full and pink pushed back against white teeth, "not some ill-bred maid."

Leah sensed the challenge, but ignored it, and the feeling of inquiring eroticism it stirred in her stomach. "Than why-"

"Just do it, girl." Why did ever little task have to be a challenge? He wondered, blinking apathetically.

She sighed, twisting her chained wrists behind her, and complied.

When nothing happened, the man didn't so much as rise from his seat, she raised a brow.

After twenty minutes it became apparent why. Why he had chose this punishment, why he had that devious smirk on his face.

Her legs were on fire. What had been an agitating tickle in her knees had blossomed into a heat of numbness and pain. But to make matters worse he hadn't torn his eyes from hers for a second. Not a glance at the clock, a shifting gaze at the paper work in front of him. Nothing.

It made her stomach churn but she didn't break her stare.

-

That is, until she started falling asleep, some hours later.

Leah's knees were still firmly indented in the carpet. Her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned against the bed for support.

Satisfied, Hans chose this move to stand. Undoing his jacket, he draped it over the back of his chair, never taking his gaze from her. He rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up, quietly crossing the room to stand behind her. She looked so much less…threatening with her short hair.

He'd expected her to cry when he had cut it, but was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. He liked a strong woman. They were so much fun to break.

He pushed some of her dark hair away from her neck. The soft tousles slipped through his fingers easily. Gripping them tightly, he pushed her forward, onto the floor.

A screech filled the room as Leah woke, blood rushing back into her legs causing almost unbearable pain as he straddled her back. "Get the hell off me!"

"Oh, now you wish to fight, darling? Well, I'm not in the mood," He dropped his weight down on her, listening with a smirk as the air was forced out of her lungs. Gasping feverishly, the young woman tried desperately not to panic as her legs throbbed. His hands raked over her back, and the knife was out again.

A quick slice was heard, and she felt the material of her uniform fall away from her sides. A moment past as she caught her breathe, and he eased slightly.

"Hm." The corset went over her bust. Hans tilted his head, why would a woman want to conceal her curves? He asked her and she mumbled her answer into the carpet.  
"What was that?"

Leah heard her ankles crack as she tried to bend the pain from them, "I don't like being harassed by lecherous old men."  
Landa moved again, this time to rest on her upper thighs. He pulled one of the bottom strings experimentally. "Does it work?"

"Obviously not."

Ignoring the rib, he quickly went about his task. Her arms often got in the way, awkwardly obscuring his view of the strings, but it was the upper ones that he wanted at the most. And the most accessible. Luckily for him.

She bit back a whimper as her breasts were forced back against her chest. It seemed just when she had gotten her breathe back, it was taken from her.

-

Days past, and Leah found herself aching for fresh air. Or any air for that matter. Her breathing had been reduced to shallow gasps as Hans tightened her corset, over and over, never loosening it. Her back was against the wall, literally and figuratively, and she briefly wondered what it would take to get away from it.

Or at the very least some fresh air.

Blue eyes stared back at her as she uncrossed and crossed her legs repetitively.

It was quite distracting. She had rather nice legs. He considered dropping his gaze to them, but didn't want to show interest. At least not until he gauged how desperate she was.

"Tell me, Leah." He smirked at her, "do you wish to be let go?"

"On what conditions?" Her voice was closer to a croak, her eyes heavy from lack of sleep and water.

The smirk widened, "what would you be willing to give?"

"For my freedom?"

"What freedom?" Hans said, a bit condescending, "Where do you have to go? You're safer in here with me. As odd and unbelieving as that may sound."

Dark brown eyes shifted to the ceiling, "what do you want?"

"Offer me something."

Oh, so it was a game he wanted? She smirked, uncrossing her legs again. "Well, I suppose there's nothing I can really give," She crossed them.

His jaw clenched, subtly, of course. "Don't fight me and I'll let you go."

"My hands to?"

"If you earn them."

A tense air settled over the pair.

"Fine."

His smirk widened as he lit a cigarette. "Get on your stomach."

Doing as she was told, Leah ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind that chastised her for going along with this. For caving. For _wanting_ it.

"Did you know, the ultimate sign of submissive behavior is to lie on your stomach?" He straddled her back again, but didn't move to relieve the straps, "it's considered so because it leaves one completely helpless." His hands gripped her short locks, "even if you wanted to, you couldn't defend yourself."

She closed her eyes, "I didn't know a lecture was involved in our agreement, Hans."

"Just making conversation, Leah; so impatient." He teased, smiling, though she couldn't see him. "You have such lovely skin you know," a heat drifted over a patch of bare flesh on her shoulder, "I could use you as an ashtray, scar that beautiful skin." It shifted, and he burned the first lace of her corset open, then the second. She sucked in a greedy breath, wincing at how close the cigarette was to her skin.

"If I did," He went on, slowly burning a hole through the middle of each black string, "would you indulge me than?"

She asked, "Indulge you?"

"Playing naive again, I see." He tugged her wrists, red and raw from the cuffs, electing a wince from her. "How far are you willing to let me go for a chance to breathe, Leah?" He sat her up, leaning her against the wall between his bed and his night stand. Like a doll. Hans moved closer, pulling the material down off her chest. A dark fuchsia band outline where it had covered her, surely cutting off her circulation. He trailed a cool finger over it, enjoying her shudder; he traced it down to her left nipple. The pale skin was tainted pink from the corset, and he palmed it a moment.

Leah watched with stoic eyes as Hans straddled her waist, hovering over her with little respect for personal space.

Her stare was troubling, too passive. He smirked as tweaked her nipple unexpectedly. A shocked gasp came from the woman as she tried to jerk away from him.

He could change that. Cupping her neck roughly he dropped his lips to it, feverishly biting and sucking the flesh that lay there. She hips bucked involuntarily as she pushed against the wall, her hands stinging in the process.

Leah's head rolled back as he kneaded her breasts, his mouth moving downward to nip and toy with her chest as she tried to block it out.

This shouldn't have been gratifying. It should've been degrading and shameful and-

She moaned as he bit the underside of her tit, a harsh, mellow pain radiating from it, but it didn't seem to affect him as he moved to the other. Mimicking the action he sank his teeth deep into her soft flesh, reveling in the sounds that came from the young woman as an identical bruise lay there. Just as on the other.

"You like that?" He cooed, teasing as she whimpered; his hand going downward to a pair of cotton panties as the other continued to pinch and teased her nipples. "You were so against it before…"

Staying silent she drew her legs closed as he tried to pull the material down.

"Now, Leah, I would sincerely hope you are not trying to back out of our agreement?" His voice was warm in her ear, and she focused on it rather than his hands.

"I want another condition."

"And I want to taste you, so if we could just end this foolishness…" His tone walked the razor's edge as he bit down on her collar bone.

Biting back a shriek of pain, at least she told herself it was pain, she murmured, "And I want a bath."

"A bath?"

"That's what I said."

Hans chuckled, a dry, surprising sound that caught her off guard. "Very well, I suppose I could give you a bath."

"I'm not a child I can do it myself."

"You must think I'm an idiot if you think I'd leave you to run about unattended." He hauled her up, pulling the material, underwear or otherwise from her lanky frame. "And here I thought we had some mutual respect."

Respect? When had he been respecting her? When he pinned her down or when he wouldn't leave the room as she went to the washroom?

A familiar clink was heard as he transferred one of her cuffs to his wrist.

-

The German glared at her. "Stop that."

"Stop what?" She asked, shaking her head, ignoring the water that spilled onto the floor.

"Splashing, or I'll make you clean it up."

That didn't seem like much of a threat and she lifted a brow at him. She'd cleaned this bathroom plenty of times.

"And you'll do it naked." Hans smirked, "I can just see it now, you on your hands and knees, that little ass in the air…" She was blushing, though she wasn't quite sure why, and he went on, "I'd fuck you like a dog before you were done."

"You're fucked." She spat, glaring at him as she fought down the swell of lust that over came her at his words.

Fingers spun around her knee, as he brushed the wash clothe up her thigh, "why the flush, Leah?" his eyes glittered suggestively as he brushed her slit, "I'm sure you'd make a more than eager bitch."

Crossing her legs, she encased his hand there as she spoke, "I'm eager?"

He leaned over to her, ignoring the water as it stained his shirt. "More so than you realize, Leah."

"Stop calling me that."

"It's your name," He smirked for the utmost time, "and I rather like the way it sounds," His lips were inches from hers, "and I rather like the way it tastes on my tongue as well, Leah."

He almost drowned her when she splashed him. His hands coming down on her shoulders as he wretched his hand from her womanhood. Her face disappeared under the water and he held her there. She struggled a moment before pausing, knowing what he wanted.

Submission.

He liked that. Pulling her up, he kissed her.

-

Manipulation was a crazy thing. Difficult to grasp, and tell who is the pawn and who is the king. But it fun.

Her leg hooked around his neck as he pushed tongue into her, she was sweet. Warm. Distracting and maddening, just like he knew she would be. The cuff around his wrist ached, and he jerked it down, ignoring the yelp from Leah as he did so.

Her wrist was much more worn than his; he eyed it out of the corner of his vision as he continued to taste her, inhaling as much of her scent as he can.

She wove her fingers through her hair as she thought of the track she was on. She did not want to stay chained up in some Nazi's bedroom like some cheap-

Gasping, her eyes snapped closed as his teeth grazed her clit, and eagerly her hands raked through his hair.

Wait- hands?

Her brown eyes flew open as she ran them down his neck, his shoulders. She tightened them around his hair, and bucked her hips up to meet his mouth. Hans paused, and she remembered herself. Putting her ass back on the ground, she took a deep breathe as he moved up her stomach. The carpet was rough, tickling her back unpleasantly, but she didn't complain.

"Remember what I said?"  
"Don't bite me or I'll slit your throat?"  
"No," He smirked, "though I'm glad you remembered that." He hovered over her mouth, licking her taste from his lips. Her fingers flexed in his dark blonde hair, "Good behavior is always rewarded."

"Hm." There was a harsh crash heard and Leah shoved him off of her as she ran for the door. Groaning, Hans rubbed his head, shocked and angered he stood. Grabbing the pistol from his night drawer he ran after her.

She was halfway down the stairs when a bullet tore through her chest.

He felt a twinge of sadness run through him. He'd just bought that carpet.

He slowly made his way down the stairs. Grabbing her bruised wrist he turned her over. Blood poured from the hole just above her left breast, and he sighed.

"We could've had a lot of fun together, Leah."

Dark brown eyes stared up at him, empty and hollow, but he knew that was a smirk on her lips.

**A/N:** THE END! This was the last chapter of 9 Crimes, and I hope you enjoyed it. I picked this couple to end on because I think their the 'grown-up' version of Hellstrom and Rachel. With a bit more angst of course. While we're on that, if you review, tell me who your favorite OC was and why(at least in this series), b.c as helpful as the poll on my site is, it doesn't say WHY and it should, but it doesn't.


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